The Night Runners
by Steefwaterbutter
Summary: It seems like weird cases have an undeniable attraction to Shawn. A simple visit to Starling City might just result in the weirdest one yet. It begins with a midnight phone call and ends with a mysterious man in black, with the worst cold ever and some creepy vigilante somewhere in between. Oh, and some deranged killer who will stop at nothing to throw Shawn and Gus off their trail
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hello my wonderful readers! I must say, thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet. XD I've been working on this story since about August of last year, so I'm really excited to finally start posting it! I hope you enjoy it. :)_

 _Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OCs_

* * *

When I come running home, my father is not sitting on the porch.

I let out a loud sigh, bouncing up and down on my heels. He's always on the porch, waiting to give me my after-school lesson. That is... unless he's working on something very important. Unless he "doesn't want to be disturbed by childish trifles."

I don't know what he means by that, but I'm sure he won't mind me showing him what I made. After all, Miss Riley said it was really good.

I hug the box closer to my chest and skip up the stairs into the house, kicking aside a pile of blood-red leaves. _He won't be mad, not this time,_ I tell myself.

He is bent over his work, glasses slipping down his sweaty nose before he pushes them up again. I call out to my daddy, tapping a finger against the box and shaking it lightly enough so what's inside won't break.

His eyes remain fixed on the paper in front of him, his mouth remains shut. He doesn't even make a grunt.

I call out louder, but I dare not tap his shoulder. He doesn't like it if I touch him when he's working.

But even though I've been careful not to grab his arm with my fingers or poke him, like he hates, he jerks, and the pen wheels across the page. He goes rigid for a second, then slumps and turns around, a smile creasing his worn and wrinkled face.

It's a cold smile. The kind of smile a crocodile might give.

Still, I return the smile with one of my own, wrapping my arms tighter around the box. "I made something at school today."

One eyebrow shoots up.

"And what did you make?"

Fingers shaking in excitement, I set the box on the table, away from his papers and slide off the top, holding my small clay sculpture for my father to inspect. He pushes his glasses back up on his nose and narrows his eyes, studying it. Then, he pushes the rolling chair back to his papers.

"If you want to make something, at least make it useful. Otherwise, there's no point."

My breath catches in my throat.

"But Daddy... I wanted to make a dog. I like dogs."

He stares at me. One boney finger jabs against the small dog's nose, pushing it back towards the box.

" _That_ is a dog? It looks like some poor deformed creature that was swallowed by a swamp. But for the average eight year old, I suppose it is... good."

I take a small breath, my chest growing lighter.

"That's... good, right?" I begin to giggle, the sound too high and too loud.

My giggle trails off as his dark, piercing eyes snap towards mine.

"But you are not _average_ ," he says, ending the sentence with my full name. I bite my lip. He doesn't do that unless he really wants to get my attention.

" 'Good' is not good enough. If you ever want to be anything in this world, you have to be great. You have to be willing to go farther than anyone else, try things that no one has tried before. Do what others are too weak to do. Work until your hands are numb, until your brain is nearly crackling with electricity. Then... _then_ , you will become great."

I nod, repeating the words in my head. _Go farther than anyone else..._

I like the sound of that.

With one last glance at my father, I put the dog back into it's box and go upstairs to my room. I whisper an apology as I push the box into the farthest corner of my closet. Maybe I will make him a girl dog to keep him company. But after that... no more. If I want to make something, I have to make something useful.

Something that just might change the world.

* * *

 _A/N: Now, I've actually written the whole thing with just the revising and editing left to do, so Chapter 1 should be here in about... 2 weeks._

 _Small note on how I came up with this story (cause I like blathering about that stuff): I first started watching Arrow about a year ago, about a month after I started watching Psych. I was shocked by the grittiness of it's, and I remember thinking "How can I go back to lighthearted Pysch, where criminals don't get hung upside down on bridges and tortured with arrows!?"_

 _However, eventually, I grew intrigued by the idea of a crossover between the two. For my other Psych story I just kind of created my own tone, but for this one I wanted to really try and mix that lighthearted and gritty tones._

 _Oh, and I've had a few people ask me already if this prologue is about Shawn and Henry._

 _My answer?_

 _...you'll see._

 _Until then, review! (And I will love you forever. XD)_


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Sorry for the wait! I'm still trying to get used to my "randomly generated" work schedule. :P_

 _But anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

All the lights were off.

Long rays of orange light were stamped like prison bars across the once-carpeted floor, sprinkled with the shattered remains of blinds. Cold seeped through Shawn's thin clothes, and he shivered, pressing himself tighter up against the jagged wood of the desk.

Who even used wooden desks nowadays anyway? And why did people have the strange urge to combine three words into one, like... nowadays?

"I don't know," Gus hissed in answer to his whispered question. The smell of sweat rolled off him in waves. "This has got to be your worst idea ever."

Shawn glanced down at his watch. 6:45. Five minutes left.

"The night falls," he whispered, "as the psychic consulting detective and his sidekick, Burton—"

"I am not your sidekick!"

"—partner in not-crime, Burton Guster."

Gus gave an approving nod, scooting a few inches closer to Shawn and a few inches further away from the crooked cobweb.

A creak snaked into Shawn's ears, then the low groan of a floorboard.

"The infamous dealers are at it again," Shawn said, his voice little more than an exhale. "None have dared oppose them." He took another slow, careful breath. "Until now."

He turned his head just in time to see Gus make the slashing motion across his throat. Shawn grinned in response, glancing down to make sure his phone was still recording.

6:47.

Three minutes left.

"Mm, y' gah th' cash?" The nasally voice came from somewhere behind them, the words slurring together as if they weren't worth pronouncing all the way.

The question was answered with a short, barking laugh, then, "You got the drugs?"

"Hun'red hits on the meth, ten hits zanamiv'r. Mmhm, jus' like y' asked. That'll be ten thousa' for ya."

Shawn felt his face scrunch up. _What the heck is zana... zanamivir?_

He turned his head to the left and saw Gus flapping his hands in the air, his face contorted. "That must be the guy who broke in and stole some of the prescriptions!" Gus gasped.

"Dude, I already figured that out, like, a week ago," Shawn said, then froze. _That was way too loud._

A sharp, cold voice. "You hear that?"

Shawn gritted his teeth, a streak of cold shooting through his body. _Crap, crap craaaaap..._

The slurring voice didn't seem to register the question. There was the sound of shuffling paper bills, then, "Mmm... looks legit. You, mmm, have fun, now, m'kay?"

Shawn slumped back down against the desk, his eyes flicking back to the phone.

" _You idiot_ ," Gus mouthed.

6:49. One minute.

 _"...Hello_."

Shawn jumped, banging his head on the underside of the desk, just as Gus's hand shot into his pocket, his hand violently groping for the traitorous phone.

"Now, mhm, tha' I heard."

Shawn smacked Gus on the arm. "Shut off your phone, dude!"

"I'm trying!"

 _"Hello."_

"What the..." The customer didn't finish the sentence. Instead came the slap of footsteps, coming closer.

 _Well, I guess we've done it now._

"SBPD! Get down!"

Shawn dove onto his stomach, his eyes glancing to his phone. 6:50. Not bad. Beside him Gus yanked out his own phone and raised it to his ear.

"Dude, why are you answering it?"

"It's a company phone, Shawn," Gus hissed. "It could be my working calling!"

"Your work is calling right now!"

Shawn jumped to his feet and looked around. Lassiter already had the two criminals in handcuffs and Juliet was reading them their rights. The one Shawn assumed to be the customer, a large, beefy man, was glaring right at him with murder in his eyes, while the dealer just looked bored and rather disappointed.

 _Caught red handed,_ Shawn thought, a grin spreading over his face.

"Nice work, Shawn," Juliet said, glancing up at him. Shawn felt his grin grow wider.

"No, now's a perfect time, Ava," Gus said, phone still at his ear. He edged closer to the door, his eyes darting between it and the two criminals.

Lassiter glanced at Gus, then Shawn. "I'm not going to ask."

 _Ava_ , Shawn thought. Wait, wasn't that Gus' long lost cousin? Maybe his aunt? He scrunched his nose. Maybe she was his sister's mom's cousin's third cousin three times removed.

"Hey, Lassie, what do you call someone's mom's cousin's third cousin three times removed?"

Lassiter shot him a glare that could make hell freeze over. "Scram, you two. The grown ups have to get to work."

"I can do a sweep of the building to make sure there's no one else."

Shawn waved his phone. "I think I've got something here you'd like to see."

"Spencer, I'm not interested in whatever sites you go on in your spare time."

"Alright, alright, so I guess you aren't interested in seeing my recording of the whole transaction."

Lassiter gave a grunt, his eyes still fixed on the drug dealers.

"C'mon, Lassie, you have to admit it makes for a pretty solid case."

Another grunt, then, "Turn it in to evidence when you get back to the station."

Gus was waiting for him outside, his face creased into an unreadable expression. He didn't even respond to Shawn's offered fist bump, at least not until Shawn's arm felt like it was ready to fall off.

At least the air was twenty times cooler out here, with just enough of a breeze to remind Shawn how sweaty he was. And there was the shiny blue Echo, parked on the sidewalk, right where they'd left it.

"Who's Ava?"

"She's my cousin," Gus said, tapping the "unlock" button. "I haven't seen or talked to her in over five years, so don't even start complaining how I bailed on you."

Shawn swung open the car door and sank into the seat with a groan. It felt so good to stretch his legs. "Five years? But doesn't your family have all those reunions and things?"

"Yeah, but around five years ago, she stopped coming. I kept asking my aunt and uncle about her, but they were almost as clueless as I was. The only thing they knew was that she had moved to Starling City and wanted to be left alone."

"Starling City," Shawn muttered. He pulled off his shoes and kicked up his feet onto the dash. "Wasn't that the place where the whole 'Undertaking' thing took place and killed, like, five hundred people?"

"Five hundred and three," Gus said, pulling the car out onto the silent street. "All in the same night. I'd bet that's more dead than Lassiter or your dad have seen in their entire careers. And that's not even counting the second terrorist attack that happened just a few months ago."

"And she still lives there... why?"

"She said she's been thinking, and she wants to get back in touch. Starting with me, I guess."

"And you said, 'Well of course I can't leave Shawn all by himself, he'll solve all the crimes and get all the money.' "

Gus frowned. "Actually, that's just the thing. She asked you to come along too."

o

Shawn scrubbed a hand over his eyes and squinted at the computer screen, the only source of light in the darkened office. If Gus was here, he would probably say it was bad for his eyes and flick on a lamp, but he had left hours ago, and Shawn didn't particularly feel like getting up and tripping and banging into half a dozen pieces of furniture just to grab a light switch. He didn't want to stop reading.

Starling City was rather interesting, to say the least.

 _Click._

First was the Undertaking, lead by a guy named Malcolm Merlyn, along with some other high and mighty rich people. He had apparently wanted to get rid of all the poverty in the city by killing all the poor people in the slums, or "Glades," as they called it, via man-made earthquake. Talk about messed up.

And then there was "Attack of the Super People," or whatever Gus had called it. All these super strong, super angry men, dosed with this weird medicine or something called Mira Kuru, or Miracle, trying to tear the city apart with their bare hands.

Shawn clicked on a gossip article, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

Then there was this guy, Oliver Queen. A billionaire—at least until he somehow lost all his money and his company—who spent five years alone on a desert island, until he was found by some Chinese fishermen or something. His own mother had been involved in the Undertaking.

To top it off, his sister had almost gotten arrested for driving under the influence of drugs about two years ago. She now ran a nightclub. Go figure.

He clicked out of the article, then slid his fingers to the keyboard. Seconds later, the screen was filled with news reports, opinion articles, blogs...

 _Starling City Vigilante._

Also known as the Arrow.

Shawn gave a yawn and scrubbed a hand over his face. From somewhere in the distance, thunder growled, making everything in the office rattle.

The letters swam before his eyes, the text blurring into images of a man in a green hood, a quiver of arrows on his back and a silver bow in his hands.

 _Man... it_ _'d be cool to be a vigilante,_ Shawn mused silently. Something right out of the pages of a comic book. Prowling through the darkened streets at night, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, shooting a zip-line arrow—however that worked—and riding down, down... into...

When Shawn woke up the next morning, his face was stuck to the keyboard. Again.

o

It took them a full day by Blueberry to get to Starling, and by the end of it, Shawn was sure he'd gone stir-crazy. Permanently.

Sure, he'd taken long trips before, but those were on his motorcycle, going where he pleased, stopping when he felt like it, seeing the sights.

At least Gus had given in and let him drive for a while. They'd talked about movies, some of their favorite cases. Shawn shed a little light on what he'd done all those years he'd been away from Santa Barbara, and Gus told of the misadventures of being a pharmaceutical sales representative and some of the weirdest co-workers and customers he'd had.

But once they entered Starling, both fell silent.

Shawn had never seen anything like it before. It reminded him of New York City, or maybe Chicago, but yet... somehow, much more regal, more proud. Everywhere he looked, tall buildings scraped the sky, their windows reflecting the bright sunlight, their white logos contrasting sharply with the darkness of the glass. Shawn even thought he glimpsed a large building with the words "Palmer Technology" blocked out on the front. _Palmer..._ Shawn thought, something clicking inside his mind. _Hey, isn't he that guy who took over the Queens' company?_

Then his eyes snagged on a cluster of broken buildings.

So, this was the Glades, or what was left of it. Huge piles of rubble still littered the cracked streets along with the usual piles of garbage. People in ragged clothes huddled around weak fires, rubbing at hands encased in fingerless gloves.

Five hundred and three of their people dead.

 _Jeez_.

At last, they arrived at Ava's apartment complex. Gus kept digging the piece of paper out of his pocket and squinting at it as they climbed the steps to her apartment. Apparently whoever built the place didn't believe in elevators.

"You don't think... I've got the number wrong, do you?" he asked Shawn for the millionth time. "What if... we've got the wrong build—" His foot caught on a step, and his hand flew out to latch onto the railing.

Shawn let out a snort between wheezing breaths. "Why don't you just... call her and make sure?" he said, dragging himself up another step. "Out... of all the floors... why... does she have to pick... the top?"

"Shawn... what if this is a bad idea?" Gus pushed open the door of the stairwell and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. "What if... what if someone decides to launch another terrorist attack while we're here? I mean, this whole city gives me the creeps, I mean, something just feels... off."

Shawn offered him a grin. "C'mon, what happened to fearless Guster?" he asked, then stepped in front of the door and gave it a solid knock.

Shawn had barely lifted his fingers from the door when it swung open, revealing a woman with softly curled black hair, looking as if she were in her thirties or so. She let out a gasp and grabbed the startled Gus into a hug, nearly bouncing up and down on her heels.

"Gus! I'm so glad you're here!" She drew back, her hand rubbing down her pants. "Has it really only been, what, five-and-a-half years since I last saw you?"

Gus let out a nervous laugh. "More or less."

She turned to look at Shawn, cleared her throat, and held out her hand for him to shake. "And you must be Shawn. I've read a bit about yours and Gus' adventures in Santa Barbara. Or, should I say... misadventures?"

Shawn grinned. Finally, someone who really appreciated what they did. "The one and only head psychic of the SBPD," he said.

Ava raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching ever so slightly. "You know, in all the times Gus talked about you, he somehow always failed to mention how you were a psychic."

"Well, that's because I didn't always have the gift. The spirits didn't decide to start visiting until I came of age, as they say." He narrowed his eyes and peered behind her into the apartment. He could see a small piano with several books laid out on the bench. One was opened. There was also ample evidence of takeout on the counters and table, and part of the ceiling above the stove was... burned?

He must have shown something in his face, because Ava said, "All right, psychic. What are they telling you now?"

"They say that you love playing piano, but you're a terrible cook." He glanced at her sleeve and caught a glimpse of cat hair. "And I'm surprised they let you keep a cat here."

"It's amazing what you can get away with around here," Ava replied. Then her eyes shot wide open. "Ack, I haven't even invited you in... oh, come on inside, you two."

She reached out her hand and tugged on Gus' sleeve, pulling him inside while Shawn followed.

"Can I get you anything? Water?" she asked.

"Ooh, do you have flavored water?" Shawn asked, his hand shooting up to emphasize the question. " 'Cause if you do—"

Gus elbowed him in the side.

"Ow!"

"I'm fine," Gus said. "But what about you? How have things been since... you know..."

Ava opened the door to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water. "Uh, well, alright, I suppose."

"We all heard about the two terrorist attacks," Gus said, his voice soft.

"Yeah... it was pretty crazy." Ava gave a dry laugh. "Especially that second one. I mean, it felt like I was Lot, watching God rain fire and sulphur down upon Sodom and Gomorrah."

"Except you weren't turned to salt," Gus said.

Ava let out a quiet snort. "Yeah, I guess that's one thing I can be thankful for."

Shawn glanced at Gus, searching his memory for those times he had gone to church. Turned to salt? "Wait, what are you talking about?"

Gus rolled his eyes.

"We've been rebuilding," Ava said, handing a glass of water to Shawn. "It's taking a little longer than everyone would like, but this man—his name's Ray Palmer—he's been a huge help. He keeps talking about renaming the city 'Star City.' I mean, I don't know what's up with that, there's STAR labs down in Central City and that pretty much blew up—literally—and so..." She stopped. "Sorry. Anyway... like I said, I've heard about some of your strange and unusual cases in Santa Barbara. And I was wondering... as long as you're here... Okay, I saw something weird in the Glades last night. A murder."

Shawn spit his mouthful of water back in the cup.

"D-Did you go to the police?" Gus asked.

Ava shook her head. "Um, well, it was a dog."

"Who would murder a dog?" Shawn asked.

"I don't know; it was weird. I was near the Glades the other night, walking home, and I heard this dog snarling. I turned a corner and suddenly saw this man standing in front of a dog. He was dressed in all black and had his back to me. I mean, the only thing I could tell was that he was tall, at least six feet even. He grabbed the dog by it's scruff and stabbed a needle into its neck. The dog dropped almost instantly.

"Then," she said, "then he muttered something. It was... 'Now only the girl left' or... something like that. And, well, then I decided it would be a good idea to leave."

"Did he see you?" Shawn asked.

Ava shook her head. "No, he must have left the opposite way of me."

"That was close," Gus muttered.

"And I thought, since you're here, you could maybe take a look around the crime scene...? I wasn't about to go check it out, and I doubt I would be able find anything anyway, but maybe you two could find something? It's not too far from here, located near a nightclub called Verdant. Here, I'll look it up on my phone."

She got up and all but ran to the kitchen.

Shawn turned to Gus. "Well?"

"It's a weird case," Gus said with a nod. "I'm in. But... just one thing, Shawn. We're not asking for payment, alright?"

"Fine. But that means you have to pay the electricity bill."

Gus opened his mouth to protest, but just then Ava came back, her phone cupped in her hand. "So, what do you guys say?"

Shawn stood up. He bowed. "As you wish."

* * *

 _A/N: Alright, so here's some trivia, for those of you who like knowing this sort of stuff:_

 _Ava kind of started out as my rant character, since when I wrote this, I was having an especially hard time with decisions. It doesn't actually show up a whole bunch in the story, but I imagine Ava is a terrible decision-maker._

 _When I was first figuring out this story, I didn't know if Ava was going to be Gus' aunt or cousin, or some other relative. So I kind of had Shawn "reference" that in the beginning of the chapter._

 _For her name, I actually just looked up "popular girl names" and picked out the most unique._

 _I wrote out her backstory while walking on a treadmill and watching a very interesting sunset. It was raining, but the clouds were light enough so the sun just turned the whole sky yellow, then orange, then red. Very pretty._

 _And finally, I got inspiration for the drug dealer's tone from the beginning of this one book called "The Sweet Running Filly" where the auctioneer doesn't bother pronouncing his words all the way. It's one of my favorite books, so I guess it's not a surprise I ended up sort of referencing it. :)_

 _Reviews make my day!_


	3. Chapter 2

A loud clatter rang through her ears, and Felicity jerked her head up from the screen, her blond ponytail swinging around to hit her in the face.

She pawed the hair out of her face just in time to see Oliver step off the last of the stairs and officially into "The Arrow Cave."

Roy always said she was weird for calling it that, but Felicity thought it was a pretty good name; after all, what else would you call a secret vigilante lair that happened to be under a nightclub? Well, one could suppose it wasn't technically a nightclub now that it was under renovations, but—

Oliver gave her a curt nod as he walked past. He had pulled his hood down, but hadn't bothered to take off his mask. He always seemed like a different person in his getup. It felt like he didn't truly become the Oliver she had come to know until he was back in normal clothes.

"So..." Felicity said, twirling her chair away from the screen. "What'd you find?"

"The dog. I met up with Roy and he said he saw a man chasing it the other day," Oliver replied.

"The poor thing that was puking all over the place?" Felicity asked, then pulled a face. That image was not something she needed to remember right now. "Do you think the person chasing it was its owner?"

"No, because I just found the dog. And it's dead." He hooked his bow on the rack and began rifling through drawers. "Do you know where we keep the extra syringes?"

"Besides all the ones attached to your arrows?" Felicity got up and slid open a drawer. "And you said I was crazy for labeling everything." She picked out a syringe and placed it into Oliver's green-gloved hand. "Blood test?"

Oliver nodded. "I should be back soon. Make sure to get everything ready while I'm gone."

"And maybe we'll finally be able to figure out what's going on," Felicity muttered, sinking back down into the chair.

o

"I still don't think this has anything to do with _The Princess Bride_."

"C'mon Gus, don't be one of those chocolate milk straws you buy at Wal-Mart. Don't you get it?" Shawn flung out his arm. "The two of us going against the mysterious man in black."

"If this is that movie, then you're Andre the Giant, and that's weird."

Shawn snorted. "Gus, don't be silly. Of course you're Andre the Giant."

"You're impossible." Gus quickened his steps, hands buried deep inside his pockets, shoulders hunched up towards his ears.

Shawn hurried after him, the wind nipping at his face and hands. Less than a day here, and he was already missing the warm, sunny afternoons in Santa Barbara. After a few steps, he slowed down to a walk, squinting against the setting sun. There it was. A swinging sign with the word "Verdant" in neon green letters. Above it, painted onto the rusted front, were the words "Queen Steel Manufacture."

"So this is it," Shawn breathed, tugging his coat closer around his body. "The old factory-turned-nightclub. We should get a drink. Ooh, do you think we'll be able to convince them to make us pineapple smoothies?"

"It's probably not even open yet, Shawn. It's a _night_ club. Plus, didn't the owner just come back from being abroad or something?"

Shawn shrugged. "Still. Someone might have seen that dog or the guy." He reached out a hand and pulled open the door. "Woah."

If this is what it looked like in the evening, Shawn knew he definitely had to come here some night and check it out. The floor was a glassy dark blue and the walls were a velvety black. By the bar were some egg-shaped chairs that made Shawn ache to run over and spin around in one. The bar itself was neon blue and behind it were some red and yellow cogs of various sizes.

It was nearly empty, abandoned except for two people. Shawn recognized the first as Thea Queen, the owner of the nightclub and sister to Oliver Queen. She was talking to a scruffy-looking young man with spiky, dark blond hair, and waving her hands up and down. She didn't seem to notice when her pocket lit up and trembled slightly, indicating that her phone was ringing. The young man said something, and Thea let out a short huff before turning away, arms crossed. Shawn could just make out the faint blush on her cheeks. He grinned, then turned back to studying the nightclub.

"Can I help you with something? We're not open yet, but come back in a few weeks and you'll never want to leave."

Shawn spun around to see Thea looking at him with an eyebrow raised, one hand on her hip. If Shawn remembered correctly, she was only nineteen, but she looked like she could be much older. She had a confidence in her posture, bright green eyes that commanded attention. Her dark brown hair hung just above her shoulders and her skin was tanned, even though it was fall. Her voice also held the faintest trace of an accent, a lilt that was different than the other voices Shawn had heard so far.

Shawn gave a sweeping bow. "Hello, my name is Shawn Spencer, head psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department, and this is my partner, Mister Fix-it."

Gus gave the imitation of hammering in a nail with great finesse.

Thea shook her head and gave a small laugh, but there was a bite to it. "Psychic, huh? Wow, they must really be desperate for entertainment down there. I mean, Starling's pretty messed up, but at least here the police don't have to rely on 'psychics' to get their work done."

Shawn almost took a step back, his eyebrows drawing together. Ow.

"We've solved over one hundred cases for the police in the last couple of years," Gus said, drawing himself up a little.

"Alright," Thea said. "So what can you tell me that I already know?"

"You know, I know," Shawn replied. He touched a finger to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating. "Let's see. I'm seeing a guy... dark blonde hair, likes red sweatshirts. Likes you, too. You've been vacationing somewhere warm. I'm sensing something... _Español-esq._ Oh, and you should probably answer that text someone just sent you." He opened his eyes and grinned at her raised eyebrows. "You never know."

"Someone's been reading the tabloids," was all Thea said at first. Then she reached down and pulled out her phone. "Though I have to admit, the text thing was pretty good."

"Of course." Shawn bowed, which got him an elbow in the ribs from Gus.

"Anyway," he said, shooting a glare at Gus, "we were wondering if you'd seen anything unusual around here two nights ago."

Thea shook her head. "Nothing, unless you count people puking into garbage cans in the alley, because that happens at least twice a week."

"Nah, we're looking for something a little more... mysterious. A man dressed in black who's apparently been going around murdering dogs."

Thea's eyes flicked over the phone screen. "Haven't seen anyone of that description. And I'm sure the renovators would tell me if they saw something that weird. But," she said, pocketing the phone, "I'll try and keep an eye out." She gave them a smirk. "Now, if that's all you wanted to ask, get out of here. We'll be reopening in a few weeks and I've still got a lot of work to do."

Shawn started to bow, then stopped and began walking back towards the entrance. Then he stopped at the sound of Thea's voice.

"Oh, and if you see my lazy brother, which you probably won't, tell him he should stop by here more often. We could use the extra help."

o

The setting sun painted long lines of shadow between the buildings. Darkness gathered in the alleys and puddles of water were set on fire with an orange glow. Several buildings were already turning on their lights, creating the only stars that would shine in this _Star_ ling City.

"We should hurry up," Gus said, digging his hands in his pockets and quickening his pace until it was almost a jog. "You know how Ava warned us not to be in the Glades after sunset."

"Pfft, c'mon, isn't there the Arrow guy who keeps the city safe? She's probably just being paranoid," Shawn said, squinting through one eye at the setting sun.

"Shawn."

As they continued walking, the gap between the buildings narrowed until Shawn was sure they were about to be crushed. Then they turned a corner and it widened, revealing a few crumbling shacks and cracked asphalt pathways. Metal plates and the remains of fencing stuck out at odd angles from the ground. The air was filled with the smell of burnt trash and smoke.

"I guess this is the place." Shawn squinted. "But... no dog."

"No body, no crime," Gus said, stepping over to a pile of broken green glass and sniffing. "Or at least, no evidence. Except... something smells really weird."

"What?" Shawn inhaled sharply through his nose, but all he smelled was old beer and sweat. Maybe the tiniest hint of blood.

"It's coming from over here." Gus stepped over to a pile of rusty metal sheets all crumpled together. Some had streaks of blood on them. Shawn stepped closer, squinting. On one of the sheets, sticking to the blood, were several dark brown hairs that could only belong to a dog.

"Gus," Shawn breathed. "I dare you touch it."

Gus gave him a look. "I am not touching that. Animal blood can be extremely dangerous. Plus, we don't know what was in that syringe the guy used." He sniffed the air again. "Unless it was lemon and beer." He sniffed again. "Is that jasmine?"

"Dude, who mixes lemon with beer and jasmine?"

"I'm just saying. The Super Sniffer never lies."

"So, he or she must have scraped themselves when they were kicked by the man," Shawn leaned forward, pointing with his finger.

"You're going to get your hand cut."

"No I'm not. Look—" Shawn's foot knocked against something and he stumbled. Without thinking, his hand shot out to catch himself. " _Owwww!_ " Shawn just about screamed and jerked his arm back, pain shooting through his hand.

"Told you."

Shawn grumbled something even he didn't understand and stumbled over to a street lamp as hazardous as the leaning tower of Pisa, which was just beginning to flicker on.

A long, ugly cut slashed across the bottom of his fingers. Blood was already beginning to ooze out of the cut to trickle down his palm. "Great," he muttered. "Gus, do you have a handkerchief or something?"

Gus just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "You probably have tetanus now."

"Dude, all my vaccines are up to date. At least, I think so." Shawn pressed his hand against his shirt and cast one more glance around the crime scene. Nothing stood out, nothing looked out of the ordinary. There were few random scuff marks on the ground, but they could have come from anything. "C'mon, let's just get back." He turned around, back towards where they'd come from.

And suddenly came to the conclusion he and Gus weren't alone.

Someone was standing under the flickering lamp, his bow raised, his arrow pointing straight at Shawn's face.

Shawn's hands jerked up before he even told them to. Funny. He usually got a gun to the face _after_ he solved the crime, not when he had just discovered it.

But then again, this wasn't a gun.

"Hey Gus," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "It's the man in black."

"No, it's not," Gus hissed back, who also had his hands raised. "He's wearing green, not black."

" _Quiet_ ," the man snarled, taking a step closer. His voice was deep and sounded like he swallowed gravel for a living. Like Gus said, he was dressed in green leather, with a green hood the kept his face in shadow. Shawn stepped back. The back of his legs bumped into the sharp edge of metal.

Shawn's jaw dropped. _No way._ This guy... he must be the vigilante. The Arrow.

"Oh... oh now I get it," Shawn said, resorting to his age-old tactic of running his mouth until the words just stopped coming. "They call you the Arrow because you shoot arrows and stuff! And—and I guess you're kinda like Robin—"

"The dog," the Arrow growled. " _Where_. _Is_. _He_."

"Oh, so it _is_ a he. See, Gus, I told you it had to be—"

" _Shawn_ ," Gus said, his voice tense.

"Uh. Sorry. Don't know?" It came out as a question.

The Arrow shot.

Shawn let out a high pitched scream and dove out of the way. The arrow clattered off the wall.

"Heh, you missed," he said, giving a slightly unnerved laugh as he scrambled back to his feet.

The vigilante nocked another arrow. "I don't miss. Where's the dog?"

"I—I don't know!" Shawn said. "I mean, dude, we just got here today. We're just two ordinary, average civilians, I swear! We got a tip that some guy in black stabbed this dog with a syringe and disappeared. We came to check it out and... he's gone, alright?"

 _Please don't almost shoot me again,_ he added silently.

Ever so slowly, the Arrow tilted his bow down and straightened his arm until the bowstring returned to his normal shape. He let out a small growl and muttered something about dead ends.

Shawn let out a breath and lowered his hands before sidling away. Something was wrong with this; it didn't make sense. The Arrow went after criminals. Big-name criminals. Not dog-killers.

"Hey." Shawn raised his hand before taking another step away from the Arrow. "Uh, Arrow... guy. Why were you looking for the dog?"

The Arrow's head jerked towards them. "Most people would be gone by now," he said. It was a flat sentence, but with the smallest hint of curiosity.

"We aren't most people."

Gus kicked Shawn, giving him a look that said, _Let's get out of here while we're still alive._ Shawn gave Gus a small smirk and mouthed _Fearless Guster!_

"What's going on?" Shawn asked again. "Why would some big, powerful vigilante be so worried about a dog?"

The Arrow's fingers tightened around his bow, his voice growing lower. "Nothing you should be worrying about. Bad things are going on in the Glades."

"Aren't bad things always going on in the Glades?" Shawn asked with a small grin.

"Which is exactly why you should stay out of this." The Arrow tossed his bow from one hand to the other, turned and melted back into the shadows.

"Dude," Shawn breathed, staring after him. "We've gotta figure out how he makes those exits look so... epic."

"You..." Gus let out a long breath. Shawn turned back to see his friend shaking his head, his expression thoughtful. "You know that's right."

Shawn stepped towards Gus, his hand throbbing dully as he pressed it against his shirt. His heart was racing, like it always did when he was about to make some grand announcement. "We're so taking on this case."

"Shawn... we don't even know what this case is."

* * *

 _A/N: And... for once I have nothing to say. XD_

 _Oh, wait! Yes I do. I keep forgetting to say...this story takes place early season 3 of Arrow (if you couldn't tell already). If I had to pick a specific time, I'd say after the people being murdered at the gym episode._

 _Review!_


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hello again! It's me, back with another chapter. I started college two weeks ago, which sort of threw me off, but now that things have settled down, hopefully I'll be able to get chapters out more frequently. (If anyone's reading and I'm not just crying out into a microphone that isn't actually plugged in (been listening to a ton of "Welcome to Nightvale" recently, can you tell? XD))_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

The coffee kettle let out a screech and Shawn winced, raising a hand to rub at his burning eyes. Warm sunlight trickled through the window, bathing the blurry kitchen in a glow that was much too bright.

He'd had the weirdest dreams last night. And that was really saying something. All zombie dogs and crazy archers and... whatever. He kept waking up, only to roll back over into another cringe-fest of bizarre images that some would call "dreams."

He gave a snort and pushed the thought from his mind. A sharp pain sparked in his hand and with a jerk he realized he'd been rubbing at the bandages at the base of his fingers, right where he'd cut them the night before.

Ava had provided the first-aid for his hand, though she hadn't been able to hold back a few snarky comments. Gus, however, was so impressed by her work he asked why she hadn't gone into nursing. Ava had just shaken her head, saying that real estate was exciting enough for her. But with a little prodding, she'd admitted that her dream job would actually be working as some sort of counselor or psychiatrist.

The TV chattered softly in the next room, the perky-eyed reporter warning about the increase in some sort of severe flu virus, reminding everyone to "wash your hands before every meal!"

She sounded like his kindergarten teacher had.

A yowl suddenly broke out at his feet and Shawn jumped. A long-haired gray cat glared up at him, lashing his tail from side to side, as if asking, _What are you doing in_ my _domain?_

Shawn grinned and bent down, scooping up the cat in his arms. "Hello there, Mister Cranky Pants," he said. The cat just made a noise somewhat between a growl and a purr, twisting its back in an effort to get free. Shawn was sure it would make a great pet for Lassie.

"Morning, Shawn."

The voice of Ava reached his ears and Shawn looked up, loosening his grip on the cat. The kitty jumped out of his arms and strode over to Ava, making a crying sort of meow. "I see you've met Boots."

"Is he always this cranky?" Shawn asked, stifling a yawn. He reached down his hand and Boots flattened his ears and drew back.

"Just about," Ava replied with a smirk. "Hey, how's your hand?"

"Fine," Shawn said. "I think there's some magic healing power in these bandages." He spread his fingers wide, ignoring the twinge. "Think we could see a bit of this mysterious city today?"

"Oh," Ava said, grabbing the coffee pot. "Uh... I... well, I really hate to be such a bad hostess, but for some reason, um, I thought I had it all worked out for me to skip work today but... it turns out they really need me." She cringed slightly. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Gus said, who had just walked into the room. "Those of us with _real_ jobs-" Shawn shot him a scowl "-know how strict work schedules can be. Maybe you can show us around your office a bit."

Ava only cringed harder. "It's really, really boring. You'd think it be more interesting... but it's not. And all the people there... all they talk about is stuff like the weather, and how they need to get the oil in their cars changed." She pulled a face, but sadness sparked in her eyes. "The friends that didn't move out after the Undertaking moved out after the soldiers came."

Shawn buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I'm sure we'll be fine. We've been on six-hour stakeouts before."

"Seven-hour stakeouts," Gus corrected.

" _Seven hours_?" Ava's eyes widened. "What did you do for seven hours?"

"Annoyed Gus, played some video games, drank pineapple smoothies, annoyed Gus some more... met up with a jock, a basket case, homecoming queen, brainiac and delinquent..." Shawn said, ticking them off his fingers.

"At least he'll have the decency to not try and stick a bendy straw in my ear at your office," Gus said with a glare at Shawn. "How bad could it be?"

o

"I can't believe you got us kicked out of a real estate office," Gus said, his voice almost a shout over the blare of car horns.

Shawn let out a snort as the line inched forward. His nose wrinkled as he grew closer to the smell of cooking oil that was now mixing with the smell of rotting sewage. Cars flashed by at every second, creating small gusts of wind. "Me?" he asked. " _You're_ the one who decided to start flirting with that woman who was _clearly_ not interested."

"The only reason she wasn't interested was because she was too busy choking on the pink lemonade _you_ decided to mix with her coffee."

"Am I really the only one who actually likes that?" Shawn wondered, exchanging the cash for a cardboard dish of steaming bacon cheese fries. He took a bite and closed his eyes, letting out a soft moan. "Oh man, Gus. You gotta try this."

"Shawn, I am one hundred and thirty percent sure-" Gus started to say, lifting up a dripping fry and taking a bite. He never finished. "Oh-my- _gosh_ -" Gus grabbed the tray out of Shawn's hands. "I don't know what they make these with, but I need to find out." He started stepping back towards the food truck.

"Hey, Gus! Give me back the-"

Someone knocked Shawn's shoulder. Shawn jerked his gaze up and saw the young man he had seen at the nightclub, Thea's former boyfriend... what was his name again?

The young man kept eye contact for a long moment, then jerked his head farther down the street, where it split off from the main road to slice in between two peeling buildings.

"Gus!" Shawn yelled, keeping his eyes fixed on the young man's red hoodie slipping in and out of view as he wove through the crowds of people.

"What is it now, Shawn?"

"That guy..." Shawn pointed. "Y'know, the one we saw last night at the nightclub? I think he wants us to follow him."

Gus shrugged and bit into another fry. "Of course, Shawn, let's go follow a guy we know practically nothing about down into a creepy alley."

"It's not even really an alley. Plus, I know a little about him. He lives in the Glades, he-"

"Yes, because that makes him so much more trustworthy."

"C'mon, Gus, he's smaller than both of us, and he doesn't even have a gun on him. Plus, there's a ton of people around." Shawn grabbed the fries out of Gus' hands and began walking away.

"Shawn!" he heard Gus splutter.

Shawn ignored him and kept walking. The chatter of people quieted as he moved down the street to where the guy was waiting. Shadows draped over the alley, shading the young man's face. Bits of paper wrappers and other trash scraped against the sides of the buildings, urged along by the breathy wind.

"Thea told me you were looking for something," was the first thing the young man said. "Some weirdo in black."

"Yeah, we didn't find him," Gus said, who had just arrived, panting. "We almost got shot by some weirdo in green instead."

The young man's face twitched, though Shawn couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a smile or a grimace.

Shawn held out his hand. "Hey, let me introduce myself. My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner, Master Snozzberry."

Gus touched his nose and nodded.

The young man reached out his and shook Shawn's. It was a careful movement. Tentative. "Roy."

"So what's up? What did you want to talk to us about?" Shawn said.

"Well..." Roy dug his hands into his pockets. Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn saw Gus tense. Then Roy pulled one of his hands back out to scratch at his dirty blond hair. "You said you were some sort of detective... right?"

Shawn felt his ears perk. "Psychic consultant."

"Okay, so, a couple of days ago, my friend, Sam, starts acting weird. Weirder than usual. She starts talking about this guy who keeps stalking her at night. She says she can't get a look at him, that she just keeps hearing someone behind her. Then, a couple days ago, she just flat out disappears.

"At first I didn't think about it much. Like a lot of us in the Glades, she was an addict. It made her say weird stuff. Plus, people have been moving out left and right lately, but..." He stuck his hand back in his pocket and blew out a long breath. "I dunno, after what she'd told me, it felt off. And then I get this."

He pulled out a phone from his pocket, his fingers swiping over the keys. A second later they heard a muffled voice, hoarse and panicked.

"Roy-you have to help me. You h-have to get me out of here! I don't know-I don't know why they're doing this. They just-just keep saying-" The voice broke off, the heaving breaths growing louder, then softer. A hacking cough. "Roy. Roy-please-they're going to kill me."

Shawn didn't say anything, just chewed his lip, thinking. For a long moment, silence fell.

"D-did... did you report it?" Gus finally asked.

"Thought about it," Roy muttered. "But what have I got? A shady phone message from a blocked number and a missing drug addict. People go missing here all the time and no one cares."

"But you care," Shawn pointed out.

"Yeah, well... I just figured I'd ask if you had any information. Since you're kind of on the track of weird stuff. I mean... did you sense anything or...? Here. Here's a picture of her."

"Not really," Shawn said, squinting at the picture of the short, wild-looking girl with electric blue hair.

"Who would want to do this?" Gus said quietly. "Did she have any enemies?"

"Probably, but she didn't tell me about any of them. Only person I can think of would be Jack. He's her dealer. She kept getting calls from him. I think he was threatening her or something."

"Do you know where we can find him?" Shawn asked, shoving the fries into Roy's hands.

Roy jumped at the action, almost dropping the fries. Then he let out a sigh. "Yeah, but... I dunno if you want to meet this guy. People who go to see him... don't always come back."

o

The first thing that Shawn noticed was the smell. A mix of cigarette smoke, musty sweat, cheap perfume, sharp citrus, and, of course, beer. Servers carrying trays loaded with chipped glasses slipped in and out of the laughing, jostling customers and clouds of smoke.

There was only one high counter in the room, wooden stools crammed like sardines around it. Shawn pushed his way toward it, his eyes trained on a certain skinny rail of a man.

Jack.

Chunks of his dark hair stuck out in all directions, though Shawn couldn't tell if it was black or just dirty. His face was shaded with a splattering of beard, as if he'd tried shaving, and then just given up halfway through.

 _"Jud's bar. Every Thursday evening..." Roy had said. "That's where you'll find him. Most run-down place in the Glades."_

 _"Why Thursday?"_

 _"I don't know, why don't you do us all a favor and ask him?"_

Shawn inched closer, ducking under another tray that materialized out of nowhere. The man was staring into his glass with glazed eyes while a barmaid in a scant outfit stroked his arm, her smile dripping. When he didn't respond, she gave a huff and turned on her high heel, striding off.

Shawn watched her go, until Gus shoved him towards Jack. He tripped, and almost crashed into the counter. His fingers slammed around the edge of the counter, catching himself just in time.

He turned his head to see Jack staring at him, one eyebrow raised. Shawn offered a sheepish grin, then shoved himself back into a standing position.

"What do you want?" Jack's voice was deep, sounding like the snarl of a dog. His breath stank of whisky. Beside him, Gus looked as if he were about to puke.

Shawn just raised his eyebrows, putting on what he was sure was his most innocent look.

"I can count on one hand the number of times people have come to me just to chat in the last six months. What do you want?"

Shawn forced his shoulders to relax and rocked back and forth on his heels, studying Jack. "Hey, man, we just want to ask a few questions. About someone named Sam."

"You guys work with the fuzz or somethin'?" Jack asked, and tilted back his mug to get the last few drops of alcohol. His sleeve slid down as he did so, revealing a piece of bloody gauze wrapped around his forearm, matching the gauze wrapped over his knuckles. "Well lemme me tell you, I know your tricks. Know how to get out of them. Got a few tricks of my own, so to say. So, unless you want a boot to the head, beat it."

"We're not... police," Gus said after a moment, and Shawn could see his eyes tracing over the man's bloody knuckles. "We... were just wondering if you knew anything about Samantha Parker's disappearance."

Jack let out a snort that sent spit flying all over the table's glassy surface, a gesture that made one of the servers shoot him a glare from where she was wiping cups.

"Roy sent you here, didn't he? Thinks _I_ had something to do with it, doesn't he? Heh, you know what?"

"Um..." Shawn said. "What?"

A smirk slid across Jack's face. "Roy Harper. He thinks he's such a fricken _saint_ because he gets to go running to the Arrow to tattle on us all. But really, he's just another piece of garbage the world decided to dump in the good old Glades." He reached a hand into his pocket and slapped down a bunch of papers. Laying on top of what looked like some kind of report and plastic cards was a crude mockery of a loan document. "Sam owed me some money. A lot of it. She wasn't paying back and so I decided to start... remindingher."

For the first time, he looked up at them. His eyes were cold, almost dead-looking. The kind of eyes you'd find on a blind fish. "I never understood the purpose of debtor's prison. How can you get your money back if the person's in jail? I didn't kill Sam. Didn't kidnap her either. Just no point."

"Fair enough," Shawn said. He considered reaching out and shaking the man's hand, then thought better of it and turned back towards the entrance.

Finally, they burst through the doors into the cool night air. Gus let out a hacking cough and gasped, sucking in the clearer air. "Please tell me we're never going back in there."

"Do you think he did it?" Shawn asked, stepping away from the bar.

"I don't know, Shawn. If he wanted to, he probably could. I mean, he looked like he got in a serious fistfight. Do you think it could have been with Sam?"

Shawn shook his head and pulled a face. "Maybe, maybe not. Plus, that one on his arm's a dog bite. I could see the separate spots of blood for the teeth." He jerked to a stop. "Dog bite. Hey... wouldn't you say Jack's about six feet?"

"I guess... oh... oh my gosh, Shawn, no. _No_. _I told you,_ we are _not_ going back-"

Shawn just grinned.

* * *

 _A/N: Big thanks to Cosette141_ _for not only beta-reading this story, but listening to my worries about college and providing advice. Go read some of her stories, they're great!_


	5. Chapter 4

"Sorry, he left about the same time you did. Back door," the server told them in a flat voice, sweeping back strands of her yellowish hair. "And unless you're going to buy something, you're loitering. We don't allow loitering here."

"Apparently it's the only thing you don't allow," Gus muttered under his breath.

"Can you tell us where he went?" Shawn asked, leaning his elbows on the counter.

The only response he got was an arched eyebrow.

Still, Shawn thanked her, and together he and Gus fought their way out the back door. A couple of trash cans clustered around the brick wall. Pipes hissed, trading secrets among one another.

No sign of Jack.

Shawn let out a groan and scrubbed a hand over his hair. His mind flicked over Jack's appearance: his blackened hair, rugged hands stained with yellow, tattered dark coat, rope bracelet... Roy had mentioned he was a drug dealer. A bit infamous.

"We can probably get an address off Roy," Shawn said, glancing at the rapidly darkening sky. "Tomorrow."

"Agreed," Gus said. "Ava's going to be wondering where we are." He pulled out his phone and began tapping at the keys. "I'll tell her we'll be back soon."

Shawn nodded, and reached up a hand to rub at his burning nose. All that smoke in the bar seemed to be catching up to him. He sniffed, rubbed his sleeve against his nose, then turned around and bit back a yell.

It was the Arrow. Standing in the shadows with his bow gripped tight in his hands, face covered in shadow.

"What are you doing here?"

There was a clatter as Gus' phone hit the pavement.

"Dude, you need to stop sneaking up on us like that!" Gus snapped, snatching up his phone and showing the cracked glass. "It's a company phone! Do you know how much it costs?"

The Arrow didn't reply, but Shawn could just barely see he was rolling his eyes.

"We figured out your case," Shawn said. "That guy, Jack. Certified dog murderer, isn't he? Anyway, why do you keep showing up wherever we go?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Wait," Shawn touched a finger to his temple, a grin tugging at his mouth."I'm sensing something. You're working on this case too, aren't you? You're just as curious as us. Dude... you know what this-"

"This isn't a matter of curiosity. This is my city. It's my job to keep it safe."

"Fair enough," Gus muttered.

The Arrow turned away. "Stay out of this."

Like a shadow he leaped onto the chain link fence then disappeared on the other side.

"Hey, wait, dude!" Shawn yelped, jumping at the fence. _How did he do that?_ "You can't just-" He smacked into the fence, fell, and was caught by the hard pavement. " _Oww_."

"Really Shawn? It didn't work the first time. Why did you think it would work now?"

"I dunno." Shawn heaved himself up, and rubbed his aching shoulder. "Second time's the charm? Like, you get this feeling like... the fence... is tiny... like a little picket fence and then you just jump and then it turns into Fort Knox and... it throws you to the ground like a... " He paused to rub again at his nose. "Like..."

"A wet soggy blanket that was left out in the rain."

"Yeah. Something like that."

It was weird to think that a couple of days ago he hadn't even known this weird city existed. If he'd known it was this cool, he'd have come a lot sooner.

* * *

Before Shawn settled down on the couch for the night (he was going to make Gus switch places with him tomorrow for sure), he turned his phone off. Didn't plug it into the charger, just shut it off.

So why was it ringing now?

It was a jangled, piercing sound that jerked him awake, screaming in his ears like a fire alarm. His hand shot out almost instinctively, and less then a second later the phone was in his grasp.

He was about to hit the "Decline" button when he saw the caller ID. No number, just a name.

Sam.

For a second his finger hovered about the phone. Why was she calling him? How'd she even get his number?

 _Well... guess there's only one way to find out._

Shawn tapped the "Answer" button, and waited.

But nothing came out. Just a few notes of static.

Then someone screamed. Within seconds the sound filled the whole apartment, so strong that Shawn's fingers let go of the phone. Just as suddenly as it had started, the scream stopped. Something gripped his shoulder, whipping him around.

Sam. Her face was blurred into something unrecognizable. Long strands of dirty blueish hair dripped off her scalp. Her rough, callous hands grabbed onto his arms, her nails biting into his skin.

"Uh... hey... You're not looking too good there," Shawn said, feeling shivers crawl up his arms at her touch. "Now I know why my dad always told me not to take drugs. You wouldn't mind, uh, letting me go, would you?"

She didn't answer, just leaned closer. Shawn leaned away, his heart banging against his ribs. Her breath smelled like rotten fruit, like sewage, like death. Shawn saw her blurry mouth open to whisper two words.

"Save me."

* * *

Shawn jerked.

Something heavy leaped off his chest with a loud _mrrrrow!_ For a second he lay there, gasping, feeling sweat trickle down his face, listening to the sound of his heartbeat thrashing in his ears. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to darkness, but he could still feel her grip digging painfully into his arms. With a shudder, he sat up and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to get rid of the feeling.

 _"Save me."_

The words slashed across his memory, making him groan. "I'm trying, Sam, I'm _trying."_

Something creaked in the darkness and Shawn jerked again. His hand shot out and grabbed his phone, ready to turn on the flashlight, but it was dead. Great.

With his limited sight, Shawn groped around in the darkness until he found a lamp. Boots was sniffing around the small living area, and skittered away when Shawn stepped towards him.

Shawn just gave another groan and sank back down onto the couch, hugging his pillow close to his body as his breathing began to slow.

Back when he was little, whenever he had a nightmare, he always would turn on his lava lamp and watch the warm colors slowly melt into one another. Too bad Ava didn't have one.

One hand reached out and swiped his watch off the desk, the numbers just visible in the hushed darkness. 3:12.

It was going to be a very long night.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Gus, it didn't feel like a nightmare. It felt real."

"I'm pretty sure that's the same with all nightmares," Gus said, pulling open the door to Verdant. "Think Roy will be here this late?"

Shawn shrugged, stepped inside, then froze. "Dude," he whispered. "Isn't that Oliver Queen?"

The room was empty, save for one person sitting alone up at the bar, a man with short, dark blond hair and a scruffy beard, his expression hard as he stared off into space.

"Isn't he the guy who spent, like, five years on an island?" Gus whispered back.

"Yeah. I bet if you were stuck on an island, you'd only last a week."

Gus snorted. "Me? Please, Shawn. You know I'd last at least two."

"Well, he probably knows where Thea is, because, y'know, she's his sister, and Thea probably knows where Roy is because she's his boss. So come on."

He strode up to Oliver, leaning one elbow on the bar. "Hello, there. My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my partner-"

"My name is Gus," Gus said, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. "Pharmaceutical sales consultant."

Shawn let out a small huff of breath. _Way to suck up to the not-billionaire, Gus. You do know he can't offer you a job, don't you?_ "Anyway," Shawn said, "we were wondering if you knew where Thea is, so we can ask her where this guy named Roy is, so we can get an address to where this guy named Jack lives. Wait, on second thought... maybe we should ask where Sam lives."

Oliver didn't reply, just raised one eyebrow slightly, blinking like an owl. "I'm-my name is Oliver Queen, but I assume by that introduction, you know that already."

"Pleasure to meet you," Gus said, holding out his hand.

Oliver's gaze flicked back to his glass he was twirling in his hands. "Ever find that 'man in black'?"

"Wait-" Shawn felt his eyes shoot up. "How-"

The man's lips twitched. "Don't worry, I'm not psychic or anything. Thea told me."

"Oh," Shawn said. "Right. Uh, good to know I don't have any, heh, competition."

"But really, how's the case going?"

"Weird. It's kinda turned into two cases now. I mean, I think we have a good suspect for the dog killer, but now there's this missing person, Sam."

Oliver opened his mouth, but just then came the creak of a door. Roy stepped into the room, grimacing at he wiped his hands on his pants. Then he looked up and froze. It was a split second freeze, a split second of widened eyes. A split second of a glare from Oliver.

And then it was gone.

"Hey guys," Roy said, walking over. "Nightclub's still not open, you know."

Shawn grinned and lightly smacked him on the shoulder. "Hey, we were wondering if you happened to have Sam's address?"

Roy blinked. "Well, she moves around a lot. I can only tell you a little bit about where I saw her last."

There was the loud scrape of a chair. Shawn turned and saw Oliver stand up, scrub a hand over his hair. "Well, I've got to head out. Good luck." He turned away, but Shawn still caught his muttered words, "You're going to need it."

* * *

"Don't look now, but I think that woman's following us."

"What?" Gus swung around, almost smacking Shawn with the umbrella and scattering drops of rain onto his hair. "Who?"

"I told you not to look!" Shawn hissed, shivering as the water slid down his neck. "Are we there yet?"

"Do you see any huge abandoned apartments?"

Shawn glanced around. Crammed along the sidewalk were various shops, vendors, and a few people, but nothing that matched Roy's description of a crumbling old apartment building, located near a several rows of train tracks. Thunder grumbled as he glanced behind once again, the low murmurs of people humming in his ears.

There she was. Blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, glasses, rain jacket pulled tight around her body, coffee cup clutched tightly in her hands, a nervous expression painted on her face. Harmless enough, as far as stalkers went.

He turned back, striding directly into a large puddle. Water splashed up and around his shoe, and almost all over Gus.

"Dude!" Gus spluttered.

Shawn grinned and bent his knees, ready to jump in the next puddle.

 _"I will-_ " Gus' threat was cut off by a yelp. The woman must have been staring at her phone or something, because all of a sudden she was smacked into Gus' back, the coffee she had been carrying now anywhere _but_ in it's cup.

"Oh my-oh dear God," she said, stumbling backwards and holding both hands over her mouth. "Out of all the first impressions I have made, I think that one was, by far, the worst. I mean," she bent down and picked up the empty cup, "not that I was planning on making any impression... Do I even have a napkin or something? I'm really sorry-are you okay?"

Oh wow. She ran her mouth even more than he did when he was nervous and that was no easy feat.

"It's alright," Gus said, whipping off his coat and letting the coffee drip off. He gave a small laugh. A deep, practiced laugh. "It's good this thing's already waterproof."

Shawn rolled his eyes.

The woman just blushed until her face was bright red. "I still can't believe I just did that," she whispered.

"Well, if you think that was bad, you should see some of the trouble me and him get into," Shawn said. "I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner-you can call him Al."

"If you can be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal," Gus said, his eyebrows quirking upwards.

The woman ducked her head, her mouth curving upward. "Felicity. Felicity Smoak. I work at Palmer Technology and hey, um, can I have your number?"

The words came out all at once, a rush of air.

Gus simply stared at her for a second. Then, he cleared his throat, his voice becoming as smooth and soft as melted butter. "Why of course."

* * *

Shawn let out a hacking cough and slapped his hand over his chest trying to get rid of the irritating sensation. There was an odd pressure in the bridge of his nose, too, and he didn't like it.

Dust hung thickly over every broken piece of furniture, every empty picture frame in this long, darkened hall. Stubborn bits of light slipped through the cracks in the walls, rose up from the breaks in the floor. The smell of mildew hing in the air, and it was making his throat burn something awful.

"Ugh, this place reeks," he moaned. "Why did Sam even live here?"

"Weren't you listening when Roy explained the whole backstory to this place?" Gus asked, carefully stepping over a hole in the floor where the beams had rotted away. The hallway seemed to be well-used, covered in dirty footprints alongside a long streak of mud.

"Uh... sort of?"

"I actually think it's kind of interesting how it's sort of like a hotel for the homeless people."

"Oh man, I really need a Kleenex," Shawn said, pinching his nose. With the other hand he shoved open the door. Gus winced at the screech.

If the smell in the hall was bad, the smell inside the room was worse. Rancid, in fact. It was coming from the fridge. The bed's mattress sagged in it's frame, a smudged window looked out onto a fire escape with droplets of rain gleaming on its rusted metal surface.

"I smell it," Gus said.

"Yeah, I smell it too," Shawn said, and coughed again. "Ugh, I think Sam ought to invest in some air fresheners."

"No, that smell I smelled before. Lemony jasmine."

But Shawn barely heard him. Instead of replying, he squinted and bent down, tracing his fingers over the two long scuffs on the floor. They led towards the window. He pushed his hands against the window's frame, trying to raise it, but it was stuck tight.

"So, looks like she really was kidnapped," he said. "But by who?"

Just then the door slammed open so violently that the doorknob cracked a dent in the wall. Standing in the doorway was an old man. He was holding a shotgun and looked rather... disgruntled.

"May we help you?" Shawn asked, lifting his hands into the air.

"What are you doin' here?" the old man asked, showing a mouth with several teeth missing. He lifted the gun and swung it at Shawn, then Gus.

"We... We're looking for a girl called Samantha Parker," Shawn said, keeping his voice low and even. "We just came here to take a look around."

"Sure ya did. You're here for one of those parties she was always throwin'. Kept me up 'til three in the morning." A snarl crossed his face. "Kids, act like they own everything."

Shawn just stared, something like a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the sheer absurdity of the situation. "You're her _roommate_? Aw, jeez, man, I think you two just won odd couple of the year."

"Shut up!" the old man shrieked, waving his gun, though the barrel had somehow shifted so it was now pointed at the ceiling.

"Just calm down," Gus said. "Sam's gone. She's been kidnapped."

"Must be the reason I've been actually been able to sleep for once in my life. Heh. Never liked the girl anyway." His eyes narrowed into watery slits and he lowered the shotgun an inch or two. "You're not here to take her place, are you?"

"Well, no."

"Then get out!" the man screamed. "Both of you; this ain't a hotel!"

"Well, technically-" Shawn started to stay. Then stopped. The old man was running towards him like some crazed lunatic-which he probably was-because instead of pointing the gun at Shawn's chest, he was swinging it like a baseball bat. Or maybe a boomerang. Shawn ducked and the gun flew over his head, smashing into the window.

Shawn decided that now was probably a good time to get out. He yelled a good-bye over his shoulder as he pelted out of the room and down the first flight of stairs, Gus pounding behind him. Then Shawn stopped dead. Gus crashed into him, and almost made him fall over the edge and into the pile of smashed wood that was the rest of the stairs.

"Crap."

"You know that's right!"

The two of them darted into another room, the same fire escape waiting outside the window. Shawn grabbed a chair, screwed his eyes shut, and smashed the already cracked glass. The sound was terrific, the tinkle of tiny pieces rivaling the sound of the now pouring rain outside. Then came the enraged scream of the old man.

"I think we may have lowered the value of his property even more," Gus said, a tinge of regret in his voice.

Shawn just huffed in agreement, too focused on navigating himself out the broken window. He took the stairs four at a time and hit the pavement with a solid thump. A split second later Gus had joined him.

In minutes they were soaked to the skin. The pressure in Shawn's nose had increased, making his head throb, and now he was shivering.

" _Where'd you go?_ "

It was the old man's voice, coming from somewhere above them.

"Oh, come on," Shawn moaned, dragging his hand down his face. He dashed around the corner, eyes searching for somewhere to hide.

 _There, under the stairs?_ Shawn glanced at his only other option, the dumpster. _Nope._

He got down on his hands and knees and was about to crawl under when he saw something. A shock of cold seeped through his body, something that had nothing to do with the rain.

 _Oh no..._

"Uh, Gus," he whispered, standing back up. "I've got good news and bad news. Good news, we found Sam. Bad news... I think she's, um, dead."

* * *

"So... can someone explain to me why we're pinging his phone again?" Felicity said, leaning back in her chair.

"I need to know why those two guys are so interested in this case," Oliver said, his shoes thumping against the concrete floor. "Whether they're on our side or not."

"They seemed pretty harmless," Felicity murmured, tapping her fingers over the keyboard. "I mean, I spilled coffee all over Al and he didn't seem to mind."

"Felicity," Oliver said, raising a hand to pinch his nose. "Why do you continue to insist on calling him Al?"

"For the millionth time, I'm sorry, okay? I-I had to talk to them," Roy said, raising a fist to his mouth. "I was desperate. Sam's my friend. Well, I mean, at least she was... at some point."

"Either way," Oliver said, "since there are now two total strangers involved, we need to find out exactly who they are." He let out a sigh and picked up one of his arrows, twirling it between gloved fingers. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

 _A/N: When I was writing this story, I had a semi-vague idea of where I was going, but didn't have the whole thing planned out. I read in one of my writing books that if you feel like your plot is dragging, send in a man with a gun. And I was like, "Okay, why not?" He may or may not end up being important later on..._

 _Anyway, if you liked it, why not leave a review? I always love reading them!_


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N: So, a quick recap of events, since it's been a while. (Good news, I ended up actually splitting this chapter in half as it was originally 6,000 words long, so the next chapter should be here in only a couple days or so.)_

 _Okay, so Gus and Shawn get a call from Gus' cousin, Ava. She tells them about a dog that has been supposedly murdered. Gus and Shawn check it out, don't find the dog, but the Arrow instead. A little later, they meet up with a young man called Roy, and find out that his friend, Sam, has been kidnapped. Their first suspect is a man named Jack, who was Sam's drug dealer. Sam was in debt to him. While they were talking, Shawn noticed that Jack had bite marks on his arm._

 _After that, Shawn and Gus head into Sam's old house to see if they can pick up any clues. However, they're chased out by a disgruntled old man. They get out unscathed, and finally find Sam. Unfortunately, she's dead._

 _(If this was a TV show, I'd totally have that really cool bits of dialouge with flashes of previous episodes and the like, but it's not a TV show, so guess we're stuck with this. XD)_

* * *

"Aw, man," Shawn croaked, letting out another hacking cough. "This is rough. I mean, it's bad enough that we got chased out a building by a gun wielding crazy McOld Pants, now—"

"We just found Sam!" Gus yelled, and Shawn winced. "And she's _dead_!"

 _They killed her._

"Get it together man," Shawn said. He crouched down beside Sam, casting his gaze over her. Her hand was clenched over a crumpled piece of paper. There were tiny pinpricks on her wrists, like the kind needles would leave.

A small shiver ran through his body.

But what was really unusual was that there were no other bruises or visible marks on her skin. True, she was wearing a coat and pants, but the sleeves were rolled up, and her arms and wrists didn't show any evidence of being tied. Had she been drugged? Poisoned?

 _I'm sorry, Sam._

"Shawn," Gus said.

 _Sorry... Roy._

"Shawn!"

"Huh?" Shawn jerked his head up to see Gus holding up his cracked phone.

"You want to call the cops, or should I?" Gus' voice was quiet, as if he were reading Shawn's thoughts. Did he really look that guilty?

"Well, obviously you can't because you've got a cracked phone and you know the police never take you seriously if you call them with a cracked phone," Shawn said, jumping back up.

"That makes no sense, Shawn," Gus said, his voice returning to its normal volume. "How would they even know my phone was cracked?"

Shawn just smirked and punched in three numbers, pressing his body up against the building, where the outcropping of the roof offered a little shelter. A second later he heard the operator telling him this was 911, and asking what his emergency was. Shawn responded with his own name and asked Gus to head back into the rain and check the street sign, to which he got a flat refusal. There was then a fiercely whispered argument, at the end of which Shawn was shoved out into the rain.

"I'm near the corner of East and Sherwood Road, and," he paused for dramatic effect, "I'd like to report a murder."

o

There was the sound of a car door slamming. Shawn glanced up from where he had been picking at his fingernails to see a man and woman step out of the car, both wearing long dark raincoats. The man pulled out a notebook and pen, then crouched beside the stairs.

"Female, brunette-dyed-blue, about twenty years old, ninety to ninety-five pounds," the man said, ignoring both Shawn and Gus. His voice was a low bass, flat. "Looks like a drug overdose."

Shawn coughed into his hand, an action that quickly turned into an all-out hacking that made him feel like one of his lungs were going to explode. Must still have some of that dust from the building in his throat. Gus smacked him on the back.

"Ow, Gus, I'm not choking!" Shawn said, as soon as he got his breath back. The woman ducked her head behind her own notepad and snorted.

The man lifted his gaze to look at them, his eyes half-closed, but thoughtful. "You're the ones who reported it, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Gus said.

"I'm going to need your statements. I'm guessing you'd like to do it back at the station."

"That would be preferable," Gus said.

"Did you know her?" the woman asked, tilting her head to look under the stairs. Her wavy blond hair fell into her face and she jerked back upright, clawing at the hair.

"Heidi. How many times do I have to tell you to tie your hair back?" the woman's—Heidi's—partner said

"You could say I knew her," Shawn said in answer to Heidi's question.

Heidi raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Shawn touched a finger to his temple, his voice becoming mystic. At least, that's what he was aiming for. "I heard her spirit calling to me. Calling for vengeance, for justice. That's how I know she was here."

"Interesting," Heidi said, her mouth curving into a wide smile. Her partner rolled his eyes. "My name is Heidi Grayson, and this is Detective Reuben Barnes. I heard your name was Shawn Spencer?"

"Head psychic of the SBPD," Shawn finished for her, then ruined it by breaking into a round of coughing.

"Head psychic of the Santa Barbara Police Department, eh?" Captain Quentin Lance said, his eyes roving over the statements Shawn had handed him. "What are you doing all the way in Starling?"

Gus shifted in his plastic chair, looking as nervous as a kid in the principal's office. Not that Gus had ever gone to the principal's office. "Visiting relatives," he said.

Shawn nodded, his eyes glancing over the Captain's cluttered desk. He could see an orange and white pill bottle stuck behind a picture frame of two smiling young women, one with blond hair, the other with golden brown hair. He snuck a glance at Lance's fingers. No ring.

"And you want me to hire you two as consultants on this young woman's murder? Two guys who just showed up in my city and found a body?"

"Well, yeah, when you put it that way," Shawn said with a shrug. "But you have to admit, solving almost a hundred cases since 2007 is pretty impressive, right?"

"Look." Captain Lance set down his papers. "They're gonna run some drug tests, but so far the autopsy doesn't really show anything that would lead us to think there was some sorta foul play involved. I'll give the SBPD a call, and if you guys are legit, fine, do a little poking around. But if you can't find anything, we're closing the case."

 _Yes!_

Shawn resisted the urge to jump out of his seat and pump his fist into the air. Instead he held out his fist for Gus to bump.

"Whaaaaat?" they said at the same time.

Now there was just the matter of Henry or Lassie or whoever Lance called giving him an earful of how Shawn's "unconventional" and "childish" methods had sometimes led the police department into... trouble.

Really, that had only happened, like, once or twice. Maybe.

"Wait. Emma's their daughter? That doesn't make any sense," Shawn muttered, struggling to keep his eyes on the flickering TV screen.

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus muttered back.

Ava didn't say anything, just smirked from where she was curled up in an armchair, Boots sprawled over her lap like a striped gray rug.

A yawn escaped him and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, nestling into the soft cushions of the couch like a squirrel in a nest of leaves. Outside, thunder rumbled and rain splattered against the window, the sound making him feel sleepy and sluggish.

Too bad his stomach was trying it's best to flip over.

Ava had convinced them to try this show she had found on Netflix, _Once Upon a Time_ or something like that. From what he had been able to catch, it seemed interesting, but his mind refused to focus, kept flicking back to the case.

 _Drug overdose_...

But why was she kidnapped? Jack was right, it didn't make sense to kill her or kidnap her because she was in debt. Unless he wanted to make an example out of her. But then why kill her with a drug overdose, something that could easily be passed off as an accident?

Then there was the note in her hand. If he was lucky, and if they did get hired on this case, it was probably in evidence right now...

 _Bzzzzz._

 _Bzzzzzzz._

Shawn gave dramatic groan and flung out his hand to grab the phone. The edge of the table scraped against the base of his fingers, and he almost yelped. Then he saw the caller

Shawn smirked and heaved himself up, throwing the blanket over Gus, who spluttered in protest.

"Hey, Lassie."

" _Spencer_!" Lassiter shouted, so loud Shawn jerked the phone away from his ear. "What the _hell_ have you gotten yourself into?"

"Nice to hear from you too."

"Care to explain why the Chief got a call from the SCPD asking if they should hire _you_?"

" _Carlton_!" came the faint voice of Juliet. Shawn grinned.

"Hey, Jules," he said. "How's it going?"

He heard the fumble of a phone being exchanged, or rather, roughly shoved into someone else's hands. Then came the honey-sweet voice of Juliet.

"Shawn?" She sounded exasperated. "What's going on? thought you and Gus were going up there to visit family, not get involved in some murder case."

"What can I say, Jules?" Shawn asked. "Strange cases just have an inexplicable attraction to—"

 _Ohhhhh crap. Oh crap, crap, cra..._

The next thing he knew, he was over the toilet, gripping the edges until he was sure the bones in his fingers would crack. His throat tightened, and _I can't breathe, I can't_ breathe-

"Oh, g-"

He couldn't even finish the sentence. His insides spasmed again, acid coating his throat. _Make it stop..._

"Hey, Shawn," came Ava's voice, soft and soothing, her hand gentle on his shoulder. "Hey there, Shawn. Just calm down, okay?"

Shawn just moaned in response, his face burning. He gave one final shudder, his fingers still clinging to the cold porcelain. Gradually, his breathing steadied, his grip loosened. He gave a groan and slumped against the wall.

Definitely not his most dignified moment.

"Ugh... sorry, Ava."

Ava gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, letting out a soft snort. "It's fine, Shawn. When I lived with my siblings, they almost always managed to get sick the night I was babysitting. I swear they did it on purpose." She got up and handed him a glass of water. "Think you ate something weird?"

Shawn just shrugged, taking a gulp of water

"Yeah, he just had to... run to the bathroom."

Shawn looked up to see Gus standing in the doorway, and offered him a half-hearted grin. "'M okay," he slurred.

"He says he's okay," his friend said to Juliet, raising an eyebrow at Shawn.

Shawn rolled his eyes and heaved himself up with the help of Ava's outstretched hand. "See? 'M fine. P-probably jus' ate somethin' weird," he said, trying to ignore the way his insides were still quivering.

He stumbled across the floor to Gus, the tiles cold underneath his feet, and took back the phone.

"Hey... guess who's back."

"Shawn? What happened? Are you alright?"

"Yeah..." A small tremor of dizziness rippled through him and he threw his arm up against the doorframe. "''M _fine_. So... what'd the Chief say?"

A pause, another faint "Carlton!" and then, "Well, she told about how you've helped us a lot, especially with that Yang case and then with Yin a year later."

"So, we're on?"

"Well, the Captain in Starling seemed to be alright with it. Honestly, though, Shawn, what have you gotten into?" Juliet asked. There was exasperation in the words, but also the slightest hint of curiosity.

"It's a long story, Jules, that just may involve a murdered dog, guy in black, a man named Jack—hey that rhymes—and a crazy old homeless man. Tell you all about it when I get back."

Juliet made a sound that probably meant she was going to start arguing, so Shawn said a quick goodbye and hung up.

"You hung up on her, didn't you?" Gus said.

"Well, yeah, but dude, we got on the case!" Shawn said hoarsely, rubbing his hand over bleary eyes and taking another gulp of water. "I mean, not like we weren't already before, but now I get to show off my psychic skills even more and... this is gonna be awesome." He paused for a jaw cracking yawn. "So, first we—"

"Don't even get started, Shawn," his friend replied. "You look like you just got run over by a train."

Ava covered her mouth with a hand, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Wow, you guys. Just... _wow_." She turned and waved a hand at them as she walked off. "Don't be afraid to wake me up if you start throwing up again, Shawn. Now get some sleep, you doofuses."

Gus glanced over Shawn, his eyebrows knitting together. "Better do as she says. I'll be in the next room if you need anything."

Shawn gave a small "Mm-hmm" and stumbled into the tiny guest room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He curled up on the bed and let his eyes, feelings the exhaustion slam into his body like a sledgehammer, feeling the bed melt away beneath him until he was surrounded by nothing.

Time to face the nightmares.

o

Shawn let out a long raspberry, letting his eyes drift outside the painted window. People chattered softly in the background, cups clinked together, creating a quiet ambiance that grated in his ears.

 _I just don't get it._

He and Gus had gotten up early, maybe earlier than they'd ever gotten up, and raced down first thing to the station. They were handed the evidence packet by an ancient woman who looked like she really needed a cup of coffee. Shawn committed the strange details to memory, then met up with Ava to discuss it over lunch at the restaurant Ava swore was heaven on Earth. Big Belly Burger.

Shawn's frown deepened as he took a slurp of water. His stomach didn't feel completely agreeable yet, and he didn't want to take any chances. His throat ached, and his hand was still bothering him, so he'd reluctantly agreed to schedule a last minute appointment at Starling General. Stupid, germy city.

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, pulling up the image of the paper in his mind's eye. It had been short, to the point and completely unreadable. It was really more random scribblings than anything else. Partially finished boxes and rotated v's, some with dots in them, some without. The all-seeing illuminati eye sketched in a corner, the words, "Trust no one," scrawled on the bottom.

Clearly, Sam had been held captive at the Mystery Shack.

He'd gotten a glassy-eyed stare from the evidence lady for that one.

Just then the door swung open. Shawn looked up to see none other than Oliver Queen with Felicity chattering by his side. When she saw Gus, Ava, and Shawn, her face lit up, and she stepped over to greet them while Oliver went up to order.

"Hey, Gus, Shawn," she said. "Who's this? Is she your sister?"

"Hey, Felicity," Shawn said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. He frowned. _Jeez. Now on top of everything that's going wrong, I'm starting to go through puberty again._

"Why hello, Felicity. This is my cousin," Gus said, a smile creasing his face, partly, Shawn guessed, because he was being called by the right name.

Felicity gave a quick exhale. "Oh, good. I mean, you guys looked like you were related, and as soon as I said that I just got this horrible feeling that you two were like, I don't know, a dating and... oh. Oh, that sounded wrong." Her face went scarlet. Again.

Gus didn't even look like he had registered the words. He just nodded, mouth twitching into an idiotic grin.

Ava gave him a look, then turned to Felicity and said, "My name's Ava, and you can sit down, you know."

"Oh! Um, sure," Felicity said, smoothing down her skirt and plopping down on the cushy seat. "My name's Felicity. I met Gus and Shawn the other day. It's really been too long since I've been here, but working at Queen-uh, I mean Palmer Tech… I'm never going to get the name right… life's just been crazy. Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I? I'm going to stop now, I swear."

"It's fine. Talk away," Gus said, still holding that dopey grin. Shawn turned away and made a gagging face at Ava, who's eyes went wide. Her fist flew to her mouth as a small snort escaped, one that might have been mistaken for a clearing of the throat.

Just then Oliver appeared, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as he clutched a greasy paper bag in his hands. "We probably should be getting back now," he said, his gaze flicking ever so slightly to the door.

Now that Shawn got a second look at him, he realized how tense and alert Oliver looked, like a cop checking out a room with their gun raised, until it was pronounced "Clear."

"So, this is the infamous Oliver Queen," Ava said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "I've heard quite a bit about you. Seems you lead quite the interesting life."

"You don't even know the half of it," Shawn thought he heard Felicity mutter.

"Oh, come on," Ava said. "It won't kill you to stick around for a few minutes. I've always wanted to get to meet you."

After a second's hesitation, Oliver nodded, and pulled up a spare chair, putting it close to Felicity. Though if he was trying to move between her and Gus or just be closer to the door, Shawn couldn't tell.

But while most of his body seemed alert and rigid, his face, his face was... droopy. Almost mournful, like a puppy who'd been kicked one too many times. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly as if he had been carrying a burden for a long time.

"So," Gus said. "Felicity. You said you worked with computers. Would you, by any chance, know about codes?"

"Well, it depends on the type of code," Felicity said. "If it's any kind of computer code, I'll probably be able to solve it. I've been building computers since I was seven. Always been fascinated by them."

"Impressive," Gus said, grinning broadly. Oliver sat up a little straighter at that, his face hardening, and Gus' grin dropped a fraction.

"It's more like a pen and paper sort of code," Shawn broke in, grabbing a pen and sketching it out on a napkin. "My friend found this weird piece of paper and she's been begging me to decode it. So she can see what it says."

Oliver nodded, his gaze flicking to Shawn. "I'm pretty sure I've seen one of those before. It's pretty simple: the person draws two X's and two pound, or 'hashtag' symbols, one with dots and one without. Then they fill in all the spaces with a letter. Called a Freemason's code, I think."

"I could probably run it through a code breaking program and get the results for you," Felicity said. "Free of charge."

"Sure thing, Felicity."

Shawn held out the piece of paper. Then he hesitated. They had never really found out why, exactly, Felicity had been following them yesterday. And here she was again. Sure, it might have been coincidence, but...

"I'll get it done as soon as I can," Felicity said, shoving the napkin in her pocket.

"We really should get going," Oliver said, the legs of his chair scraping across the tiled floor.

Felicity looked up at him, opened her mouth, shut it, then hurried after him with a quick good-bye. The bell tinkled, then they were gone.

* * *

 _A/N: Lemme know what you think._


	7. Chapter 6

If he was honest, Shawn would be the first to admit that he frankly hated hospitals. All those smells of cleaning supplies and hand sanitizer made his nose itch.

Shawn shifted in the hard seat, trying to stare down the pale walls of the small room. He wished Gus had fought against him harder and insisted on coming with, but hey, the whole reason Gus had come was to spend time with his long-lost cousin, and Shawn, well, he could do this by himself. At least, that's what he'd thought at the time.

He rubbed at his hand, then let out a yelp. Wrong hand.

"Oh, give that to me," the doctor said, setting down a clipboard on top of a paper labeled _Hayden's Disease._ She took his hand in her own, frowning as she tilted itback and forth. Strands of jet-black hair curled around her amber skin, falling over her shoulder and across her nametag, which bore the title of Doctor Delilah Sarin. She looked just about as happy as Shawn to be here right now. "How did you get this anyway?"

"Just, y'know, cut it on some metal," Shawn muttered.

Delilah released his hand and turned back to her computer, tapping a pen against the marbled gray desk. "Looks like I managed to get all the infection. We'll still have to have you take a blood test. You'll need to fill out your contact information, so we know how to get back to you." She shoved a piece of paper towards him, then followed it with a pen, eyes still fixed on the computer screen. Shawn began scratching out his information, and Delilah continued, "Lastly, you'll need to pick up some amoxicillin which you'll need to take twice a day for the next ten days."

"Great." The word rasped in his throat, followed by the distinct sensation that someone was shoving sandpaper down his trachea.

Delilah's eyes snapped away from the computer screen.

"Open your mouth."

"It's n—"

She gave him a look, the same kind of _I'll shoot you with my laser eyes if you don't listen to me_ look that Chief Vick gave him and Gus sometimes.

Shawn did as he was told.

"Hmm. Bit inflamed, but not too bad." She placed her icy hand on his forehead, then took it off. "Not too much of a fever. Looks like just a bad cold. But..." she trailed off, her eyebrows drawing together. "Just get some rest, take your pick of cold medicine, something with dextromethorphan HBr and you should be fine. As for the blood draw... normally, we'd call in the nurse, but since this was a last-minute thing, I'll have to do it myself."

"Um, yeah," Shawn said, feeling his stomach twist into a fantastic Gordian knot. Jeez, wasn't the whole point of hospitals to make you feel _better_?

About eighty-seven agonizing seconds later, he heard the wonderful sound of "Done." Then, "You'll be able to pick up the amoxicillin at the pharmacy downstairs. Just give them this." She handed him a piece of paper and stepped towards the door.

"Uh, hey," Shawn said, holding up a hand. "Uh, do you think you could take me there? I mean, I'm getting some pretty strong David Bowie vibes off this place."

Delilah arched an eyebrow. "David... what?"

Shawn had never missed Gus more than he did in that moment. "Y'know, _Labyrinth_?"

Delilah just shook her head. "I was planning on heading down there anyway, so yes, I can take you."

She opened the door, and Shawn trailed after her through the long, starch white halls which kept glaring at him. Supposedly "calming" pictures were hung on the walls, with blazing colors depicting fruit or blocks.

"Abner! I didn't know you were coming today!"

Shawn promptly quit his staring contest with the walls and turned to see Delilah's eyes lit up, her mouth curved in a grin, something Shawn wasn't sure she was capable of until now.

The older man chuckled, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his smudged lab coat. "I wasn't. But then I thought, I haven't come to say hello to you in a while, so I decided to come and see how my girl was doing."

"I'm fine," Delilah said with a roll of her eyes.

Shawn had to resist the urge to break in with "And I'm Shawn."

"I'm just going to drop him off at the pharmaceutical center, then see if I can get some more work done on the disease."

Abner took off his glasses again, scratched his stubbly gray beard with the end, then put them back on. "Well, about that... really sorry, Dee, but I was handed these with specific instructions that you were to get them filled out."

"Seriously?" Delilah said, grabbing the files out of Abner's hands. "Every. Single. _Time_! Anyone has _any_ paperwork, oh, let's just send it to Delilah!" Then she shook her head, her face becoming neutral and passive once more. "Come on, Shawn."

"Oh, Shawn, was it?" Abner said, turning to Shawn. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah, you too," Shawn said, and shook the man's calloused hand, before hurrying after Delilah.

Two flights of stairs and countless blank corridors later, they were in front of a medium-sized door marked "Pharmaceuticals." Within seconds, Delilah had disappeared inside and reappeared back outside, after which she shoved a bottle of pills into his hand.

She looked ready to go when Shawn saw her eye dart towards something over Shawn's shoulder. Her face grew hard, her mouth curling into almost a snarl.

Shawn turned and saw a woman with short, curly blood-red hair that bounced up and down around her pale face as she waved her hands. She was talking to a tall man with dark hair.

"I'm sensing you don't like this woman," Shawn said.

"Doesn't take a psychic to figure that out," Delilah muttered.

"Actually, about that..." Shawn stopped, feeling his lips quirk up in a grin. The woman's ID said _Veronica Hayden._ Hayden's disease. "You're jealous, aren't you? This woman, you've got a bit of a rivalry going on, and she's pulled ahead. She's discovered a whole new disease and they named it after her. She gets all the glory, you get all the paperwork."

Delilah stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "Yes. I... I guess that's true." She let out a sigh, running her fingers through strands of black hair. "To tell you the truth, I'm no good with patients. They only stuck me with you because it's been so busy lately and I'm the one who's just shy of intern status. Exit's that way, and if that cough doesn't get better within a week, make sure to come back. Same with the infection." With that, she brushed past him and disappeared around a door.

Shawn just nodded. Finally, time to say goodbye. He turned to go, the sound of a man's voice floating into his ears as he began walking down the long corridor.

"How's your patient doing?"

A woman's voice. "Mr. Smith—"

"Veronica. It's me. You don't have to be so formal."

"Fine, then. Owen wasn't doing so well. He—it was getting harder for him to breathe, we thought we were going to have to move him onto life support soon—"

"Why are you using the past tense?"

"Well—because—I don't really know how he's doing right now."

"Uh… and why don't you know?"

"He's gone. Disappeared. I—I think he was kidnapped."

Shawn's body jerked to a stop mid-step. _Well this just got interesting._

Ever so carefully, he lowered his foot, then turned and stepped towards the voice, pressing his body against the wall. He stole a glance around the corner and saw that it was Veronica talking, her hand pressed to her forehead as she paced back and forth.

"Wait, what? I—Veronica, you're stressed. I get it. You've been working so hard to save other people, you aren't taking care of yourself," he said. "The hospital probably just released him."

"No, they didn't, Mark!" she snapped. "I saw him! He wasn't well enough to get released. Not at all."

"Okay… so maybe he got transferred and someone just forgot to tell you," Mark said, his voice low, soft. He reached out and touched her shoulder. "You can't keep jumping to conclusions like this."

Veronica just gave an exaggerated " _Uuuuugh_ ," and pulled away to fold her arms. "Fine. I'm done. I'm done talking about this. Are you doing anything tonight?" She turned back to him, a smile pasted on her face. "See? I'm talking about different things."

Then it was Mark's turn to scrub a hand over his face. "Well..."

Veronica reached up her hands and mussed them into Mark's thick black hair, the smile becoming genuine. "Oh, weren't you the one who was just saying someone's got to take it easy?"

Mark let out a sigh. "It's just with Dad... he's not doing too great. I'm going to try talking to him again. I just—I just wish—"

Just then came a loud ring. It was coming from Shawn's pocket.

"What the— _argh_ —" Shawn jerked back and jerked his phone out of his pocket so fast it almost flew out of his hands. Then, just as soon as it had started, the ringing stopped.

 _Well, that was weird._

Shawn slid the unlock button and began tapping and swiping at the screen, eyes narrowed. No missed calls. Huh.

"You okay there?"

Shawn jerked again, and almost dropped the phone for the second time. He looked up to see Mark, one eyebrow raised, a barely concealed grin sliding across his face. He seemed friendly, with messy black hair, warm brown eyes and a good half-inch of beard.

Shawn shoved his phone back into his pocket and shrugged his shoulders, trying to match Mark's grin with one of his own. "Nah, I'm good. Just heading out." He jerked his thumb towards the exit sign.

Mark nodded. "I was about to head out too, and I saw you looking really confused. Just thought I'd ask."

His tone sounded genuine, his gaze amused. Lying? Maybe, maybe not.

"My name's Shawn Spencer and—" Shawn stopped, remembering Gus wasn't with him. "And… nice to meet you."

"Name's Mark," Mark said. "And since you seem to be okay, I'll be heading out. Promised someone I'd go pick up a box of doughnuts for her—It's a long story, okay?—and anyway, yeah."

He brushed past Shawn, heading down the hallway. Shawn glanced over, watching him go for a few steps. One of his legs, the left one, dragged behind him, supporting his weight when he needed it, but barely agreeing to move.

 _The brown smudge of footprints, and beside them, broken streaks of dried mud on the worn floorboards..._

The kind someone with a limp might make. Found only a few steps away from where Sam was kidnapped.

Time to pull out the psychic. "There's something odd about you, Mark."

Mark froze. He swung around, eyebrows drawn together. "What?"

Shawn touched his finger to his temple. "You don't work here, and the spirits tell me you aren't here to visit someone sick or injured. So, what brings you here, Mark? I mean... you haven't gotten into any trouble in the Glades, have you? Any run down old buildings..."

"Uh... well, no..." Mark tilted his head ever so slightly, squinting. "I just came here to check up on a friend."

"Veronica Hayden."

"You were listening to us, weren't you?" Mark said, his voice muffled as he scrubbed a hand over his face, as if he were really asking himself why he was still here.

"Me?" Shawn held up his hands. "I was just trying to figure out why my so-called 'smart phone' was acting like it just got stabbed with a taser. I'm a psychic, Mark. I can sense you're pretty stressed out, haven't gotten a full eight hours since who-knows-when, and—" He glanced at Mark's palm, streaked with ink. "You're a bit forgetful."

"Oh, yeah. Psychic. We got some of those down in the Glades," Mark said, his voice little more than a sigh. "And if you're really psychic, you'll know there's nothing going on."

"I—"

"We're just friends, that's all."

Shawn closed his mouth. _Not the answer I was looking for, Mark. But I can work with it._ He quirked one eyebrow up, giving Mark a knowing glance. "For now," he said, trying to resist the urge to sniffle.

"Uh, what's that supposed to mean?" Mark spluttered, his face screwing up in confusion.

Shawn just tapped his temple and turned to start walking away, trying to get to the door before his shoulders started shaking from the concealed laughter. He had to admit, this was one of the best reactions to a vision he'd gotten in a while. Whenever he tried to mess with Jules, she would always just roll her eyes and slap him lightly on the shoulder, though her eyes would sparkle.

He felt the urge subside as quickly as it had come. How long had he been away from Santa Barbara now? Weeks? Months? _Years?_

 _Four days, Shawn._

He could almost hear Gus' voice in his head as he pushed open the door, which lead to a narrow stairwell. He glanced behind him to make sure no one was looking before grabbing the rails and swinging down the stairs three at a time.

 _At last, freedom!_

He swung open the door, threw himself out and smacked headlong into someone.

Shawn stumbled backwards, his hands reaching for something but finding only smooth, cold wall. His back smacked into the door and he sat down hard.

"Shawn, are you okay?"

After a fraction of a second spent scooping up his scattered thoughts, Shawn opened his tightly shut eyes to see the dusty brown hand of his one and only best friend, Gus.

Shawn grabbed it and heaved himself up, slapping Gus on the shoulder. "Gus!" he gasped. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

"It's only been two hours."

"I think I know who might have kidnapped Sam."

Gus' leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Who?"

Shawn grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the stairwell. "His name is Mark. Mark... well, okay, I don't know his last name yet. Remember those footprints we found?"

"Not everyone has an eidetic memory like you do, Shawn."

"Well, they were made by someone who has a limp. Mark has a limp."

"Who has a limp?" asked Ava, who had just entered the stairwell herself. Shawn gave her the one sentence explanation, with Gus insisting on butting in with his own comments.

She frowned. "But it's purely circumstantial. He could have been there for any number of reasons."

Shawn let out a long-suffering sigh and said, "Like what? Who goes into an old, broken down hotel just to take a nice stroll around? It's not exactly the Ritz or anything. And you know what would be cool? If the Ritz were made entirely out of Ritz-bits."

"Shawn."

o

Shawn took a breath as they stepped outside Starling General back into the slightly damp, slightly smoggy air of Starling City. Across the parking lot sat the Blueberry, waiting for them like a loyal dog. Shawn had just begun to step towards it when his phone rang loudly. He gave a loud groan.

"Oh, c'mon, not again."

"What do you mean, not again?" Ava asked.

Shawn's hand dove into his pocket. "Tell you in a sec." He didn't recognize the number, but hit the "Accept" button anyway. "Hello?"

"Oh hey, Shawn, how's it going?"

It took him a second to recognize the voice. "Felicity?"

"Oh right. I probably should have said that first. Well, I just thought I'd let you know, I was able to crack the code."

Shawn jumped into the air, pumping a fist. "Great! Hey, Gus, she cracked it. The code. Pull up your notes or something on your phone."

Gus nodded and jerked out his phone, fingers at the ready.

"Alright, so what does it say?" Shawn asked, pushing the "speaker" button.

"It's... it looks like some sort of to do list," Felicity said. " 'Do laundry. Remember to pick it up from the Undertaking. Stock up on food, and..." There was the sound of tapping keys. "Tell the Whistler about… Hm. Just trails off here." She let out a small, frustrated noise. "I mean, if he had written something down, then erased it, I could probably have recovered it, but he didn't write anything."

"It's alright. Thank you, Felicity. You've been a great help," Gus said.

For a second, Shawn just frowned. The Undertaking? Wasn't that the official term of the terrorist attack two years ago? Or was that the Underfelling?

Shawn slowly repeated the words, turning them over and over in his mind, keeping in time with the slap of his feet against the pavement. Wait-

"Don't trust her," Felicity said, her voice nothing more than a crackle in his ear.

"What?" Shawn jerked his head up, but saw nothing, just the gray buildings of Starling.

"Oh, sorry. That's just the last thing on the note."

"Creepy," Gus muttered.

"But who's the Whistler?" Shawn asked. "It's a code inside a code. Like… Inception."

"That was a dream inside a dream," Ava said, before sliding into the Blueberry shotgun.

"I know!"

Gus swung open the car door and Shawn did the same, stretching himself out in the back seat with a sigh. Was it cold in here, or what it just him?

"What I'm wondering about is 'Remember to pick it up from the Undertaking.' "

"He must be talking about somewhere inside the abandoned subway tunnels. Where the earthquake device was located. Let me see..." there was the sound of fingers flying over a keyboard, then, "I'm sending you the coordinates now."

"Hey, Felicity, you should come with us," Gus said, his hands settling around the steering wheel.

"Who, me?" Felicity sounded startled. "Um, well, I'm actually kind of at work right now, and Ray, well, I do kind of disappear from time to time, so he's kind of used to that, but I've been trying to cut down on that."

"Fair enough," Shawn said, leaning his head against the cool window and letting out a sigh as his head began to throb dully.

Felicity must have mistaken it for disappointment, because she broke in with, "But I'm sure Oliver wouldn't mind coming along."

"Does he usually get involved with this type of stuff?" Shawn asked.

A pause, then, "No, not really. He's mostly just trying to find work right now. But he seemed pretty interested in this case you're trying to solve. I'll go ask him right now."

The line cut out, then an image popped up on his screen, a red flag in the middle of several streets, sort of like Google Maps. Coordinates.

 _Weird that she knows where it is._

"Hey," Shawn said, leaning forward in his seat, "you should come with us, Ava. We'd be like a of adventurers, going off into the dungeon to fight the dragons. I'll be the rogue, Gus can be the bard-"

"I am not being the bard, Shawn."

"Uh..." Ava gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. "I don't know if I really want to go to the place that caused a quarter of the city to be destroyed." She swallowed. "But, y'know, next time you're going to some weird abandoned place, that didn't result in hundreds of people dying, tell me. Just be careful, okay?"

Shawn snorted, rubbing a thumb over his temple. "Into the unknown."

* * *

 _A/N: Yeah, I'll be honest, this isn't one of my favorite chapters, although it is very important. I compiled all my memories of clinic check-ups and the like (including a 3 hour visit while I was actually writing the first draft where the doctor was pretty confused on why I had a cough for 2 months. Might have been bronchitis, I dunno. I'm fine now.) for reference while writing the hospital scene. I mean, I dunno if I've ever actually read a story where the character just goes in for some minor injury, haha._

 _It will be a little bit before the next chapter comes out, but after that, things really start picking up, clues start falling into place, so you've got a lot to look forward to! :D_


	8. Chapter 7

"Are you sure these tunnels aren't used anymore? We're not going to be suddenly hit by a subway… are we?"

"No, Gus, I'm sure they decided to keep using them after the earthquake," Shawn said, crawling under the rusty metal bars where, once upon a time, people had slid their cards in before hurrying off to work or school or to run back home to change the laundry that had been left in the washer for nine days and then probably smelled like moldy bread.

Shawn pulled out his phone and flicked on the flashlight. He dug his other hand deep into his coat pocket, shivering as a blast of cold swept over him. Something glittered in the darkness, and a squeal rang out, then the skittering of paws against concrete.

"Uh." Gus gulped audibly. "Shawn. I'm pretty sure that was a rat."

"Where's Oliver?" Shawn muttered. "He was supposed to be here by five. I mean, _we're_ ten minutes late."

"You do know rats can carry Lymphocytic choriomeningitis."

"Yeah, yeah, this isn't ye olde Europe, we'll be fine," Shawn said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He stepped over to the wall and slid down into a sitting position. He closed his eyes, not to look over the case, but to simply try and see if he could get rid of the sensation that someone was pressing at his skull from all sides.

It took about five more minutes, give or take a couple years, before Shawn heard shoes thumping down the stairs. He flicked open his eyes to see the one, the only, Oliver Queen step into the station, looking slightly ruffled.

Oliver wasn't quite sure why he'd agreed to this. He wasn't the police, he didn't take on consultants, and he was more than capable of just doing this one on his own. But then again, Felicity had already decoded it and given them the place, so he figured he might as well go along and see what it was.

"Hey, man, you made it!" Shawn said, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms wide. Then he stumbled back, blinking his eyes. "Ugh, Gus, remind me not to get up like that."

"I have. You just don't listen to me."

 _Oliver Queen,_ Oliver thought, _famous not for his failed attempt at being a CEO, not even for his five years spent stranded, but for being late to pretty much everything._ "Better late than never, I guess," he said.

He easily vaulted over the barrier, landing with a thump on the other side, and almost smirked at Shawn's raised eyebrows. "It should be down this tunnel," he said, and jumped off the platform onto the long dead tracks.

"You know, in all the places we've gone, I don't think we've ever gone down a subway tunnel before," Shawn said, jumping down after him. "Though, I don't think this even gets on the list of top ten weirdest places."

 _If this is isn't even in the top ten… what is?_ Oliver thought, then decided not to ask.

He took a quick breath, then swung his flashlight around the darkened tunnel, the beam bouncing off the rails and up against the walls.

Two years since the Undertaking.

Two years that felt like yesterday.

He could still hear Felicity's frantic voice as she spoke instructions over the comm device to the formerly Officer Lance, telling him how to disassemble the machine. How her voice splintered into sobs when they found out Malcolm had made not one, but two, with no time to stop it. He could still hear the shrieks of the people as their homes, their very lives were wrenched apart. And Tommy...

"Suck it, Shawn," he heard Gus whisper.

"You suck it!'

"You suck it!"

"You-"

There was the sound of slapping, then, "Suck it!" sung in unison.

Oliver let out a soft snort. What a bunch of ten-year-olds.

Still, he didn't have a hard time imagining him and Tommy doing that themselves. Before the island. Before the Undertaking.

"You lost someone, didn't you?" Shawn asked, his voice soft, the kind of tone Oliver would have never expected to come from him. For a second he just stared at Shawn. Okay, there was no way he was that transparent. Maybe the guy really was psychic. After all he'd seen in his life, the idea didn't seem to far-fetched.

Still, he'd never expected to find one in a guy like Shawn.

"A lot of people lost someone that night," he said, turning back ahead and ignoring the prickle in his chest. "Some not for the first time. The rich and powerful, they didn't care about the people that lived in the Glades. As long as their pockets were lined, they couldn't care less that this city was dying inside. They didn't care that people were dying."

 _And most still don't care that this city's continuing to rot from the inside out._

"But... this Arrow guy," Shawn said. "He seems to really care about the homeless people, the 'Glades people', as you call them. I mean, some people say that he's helped save the city. Twice now. I mean, I guess I can't really say anything from personal experience, since all he really did was creep us out and almost kill us, but he didn't kill us, so I guess that's good."

 _Yet none of this started happening before I came back,_ Oliver thought. Then he heard Felicity's voice telling him he was being unreasonable and illogical to think it was somehow his fault, and pushed the thought away.

"Yeah, I guess that's good," Oliver finally said, running his fingers along the side of the subway wall. He kept his tone even and light, a bit disinterested.

"So... what do you think of him?" Gus asked.

 _...Great._

"He's... dangerous," Oliver said. "He's helped out, you can't argue with that, but he's also killed more than enough times to be considered a serial killer."

 _Even though he... I... don't do that anymore._

"Now I have a question for you," Oliver continued. "Why are you so interested in this case, anyway? You don't even live here."

"We work on this kind of stuff a lot," Shawn said. "I mean, someone was murdered. Well, two someones if you count the dog. Definitely not cool. Plus, we said we would help Roy find out what happened to his friend."

"And we fully intend to keep that promise," Gus said.

"Right," Oliver said. _Roy, you idiot._

In a few minutes they arrived at the place where the first Undertaking device had rested. Oliver could still see the blackened spots where the concrete had been burned.

"Whoever left something here probably left it at this place instead of where the other device was," Oliver said. "I heard Captain Lance was able to shut that one down, so it didn't leave much of a mark behind, which defeats the whole purpose."

He glanced around, but saw nothing but large grey bricks, curved into a dome around them. A few crushed cigarette butts littered the ground, and burned out lights glared down at them, but other than that, he didn't see anything unusual.

"There's something about this code," Oliver said. "We know that Sam was most likely kidnapped, and that she must have escaped, then died. It's not likely someone found her and killed her. Otherwise they would have taken the note from her hand. When she escaped, her first thought was probably to find someone, or maybe just hide. She wasn't looking for anything. If she grabbed something, she grabbing it from the place she was kidnapped." Oliver took a breath. "Probably."

"Yeah…" Shawn muttered, and turned around in a circle, his head tilted towards the ceiling. Then his foot caught on the rail, and he almost fell, but slapped his hand against the wall at the last second. Oliver saw him squint at the wall, tilt his head to the side a little.

"Aha!" Shawn jerked forward and dug his fingers around one of the bricks. With a loud groan he yanked it out, revealing a small niche. Oliver stepped forward, eyes roving over the small space.

It was nearly empty, marked only by a few thin scrapes and nicks on the wall surrounding it. The only item that remained inside was a small, aged photo showing two grinning boys with dark hair, maybe five and six, seated on the lap of a smiling woman, probably the mother, with who could be assumed to be the father standing in the background.

Oliver took the photo in his gloved hands, carefully turning it over. There was nothing written on the back, no timestamp to suggest when it was taken, though it looked at least a decade old. With luck, they might be able to pull some fingerprints off. If that didn't work, they could always try facial recognition. A combination of both would probably be best.

He slipped the photo into his pocket and was about to start heading out when he heard Gus' voice.

"Uh, shouldn't we be giving that to the police? I mean, I'm glad you're helping us out and all, but… I mean, you're, uh, not exactly on the case, and…" His voice trailed off.

 _Oh. Right._ He'd almost forgotten about them. Oliver turned around, giving a short laugh. "Oh, yeah, sorry." _I should be able to get Lance to share the results… all the same, I'd rather have Felicity doing it._

He pulled out a bit of cloth and carefully wrapped it around the photo. "Here."

 _Don't disappoint me._

o

The streetlights had been on for almost two hours by the time they arrived back at Ava's apartment.

When Shawn cracked open the door, he was greeted by the sound of music. But not the movie. Just Ava. Her fingers moved over the keyboard with a certain grace, her voice keeping in time with the music.

" _Who will love me for me?_

 _Not by what I have done_

 _Or what I will become_

 _Who will love me for me_

 _'Cause nobody has shown me what love_

 _What love really means."_

"Nice song," Gus said, shutting the door behind them.

There was a clang of keys as Ava jumped, then whipped around to face them. "Gosh, you scared me. I thought someone was breaking in for a second."

Shawn felt something rub against his legs and looked down to see Boots weaving in and out of his ankles. "You are either the most affectionate, maybe bipolar cat I've ever seen… or you're trying to trip me down the stairs and kill me."

"Which wouldn't make any sense because there's no stairs inside my apartment," Ava said, reaching down and scooping up Boots in her arms. "You might just have to go with bipolar."

"Fair enough."

"So, what'd you find? What's Oliver Queen like? Was he all mysterious and silent, like he was earlier today?"

While Gus filled her in on what happened, Shawn pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers for the police station, Heidi's number to be specific. It took about five rings before someone answered.

"...Hello?"

The voice on the phone sounded half-asleep.

"Hey, Heidi—"

How did you shorten Heidi? Heids? Nah. Heidi it was then.

"Um, I was wondering if you could look up any records you have on a guy named Mark. We've also got some evidence we need to get fingerprinted. Wait, is that even a word?"

There was silence for a few seconds, the soft sound of tapping.

"Alright. I'll give evidence a heads-up. You'll need to drop it off as soon as you can. As for the guy, you're going to have to give me his last name, Mr. Spencer. Shawn. Mr… Psychic Detective. Whatever you want me to call you."

"Oh… how about…" Now this was hard. He usually didn't come up with names for himself. Then he spotted a DVD lying on the coffee table next to him. "Shergar."

There was the faint tapping of keys, then, "You want me to call you after an Irish racehorse?"

"Sure, why not? You know I once solved a case involving racehorses—"

"What... like some racehorse got murdered? Anyway, there's a lot of people here named Mark. Like I said, I need a last name. And I'm"—she yawned audibly—"about to head out for the night. But if you want to come down here tomorrow morning and check it out, be my guest."

"Right. Guess we'll just have to look through a few pages of Marks tomorrow. See you around Heids," Shawn said, but Heidi had already hung up.

o

Darkness, illuminated by the thousands of tiny sparkling lights in windows, the flashing of stoplights, of cars.

Silence, filled with the sound of tiny droplets of water falling from the heavens to splash on the earth below.

Shawn burst into another coughing fit, hunching over as his body shook. With a sigh, he flopped back onto the poles that made up the railing of the fire escape. Stupid cold. Flu. Whatever this was called.

The faint smell of car exhaust and steaming pavement drifted up into his nose, along with the occasional shout of some late-night drunk. He himself was protected by a large black umbrella, but the rest of the city was soaked in a soggy drizzle. It didn't often rain back in Santa Barbara, but he always found the sound soothing. This time was no different.

He checked his watch again, squinting at the numbers in the dim light. 12:46. Alright, five more minutes, then he'd try the couch again.

 _Son of a pineapple meringue pie_ _. This sucks_. _Sure, there's time to go over the case, but ugh, I'm sick of that._

 _Mark's gotta be our main suspect. He must have gone into the hotel to see her, then kidnap her. But why?_

 _And who wrote the code? Who was in the picture they found?_

They needed more evidence. But… ugh, it was hard to work when he could barely sleep and was tortured by coughing fits.

 _I miss Santa Barbara. Miss working with Jules, Buzz, Chief Vick, Woody... heh, I even miss... well, I miss annoyin' Lassie._

It was lonely out here, with the whole world sleeping and himself awake. It was—

It was making him poetic.

He pulled out his phone and was wondering if Jules would be okay with him calling this late, when he heard a thud.

Shawn's head jerked up, his eyes searching through the gloom. Wait. He squinted. There it was. Someone lurking in the alleyway, someone dressed in black that was even blacker than the shadows that surrounded him...

Within seconds Shawn was shaking Gus awake.

"Wha..."

"Gus, I saw him! It's the man in black!"

"And you want us to... go look for him..." Gus paused for a yawn. "Why? 'Sides… how do you know it's… _the_ man in black?"

"My psychic senses are tingling, that's why! Because we need to find out who this guy is, because he knows about the case, well, the dog one anyway, because... he's the man in black!"

"You have fun with that."

"Gus, I am not going out take down some evil supervillian without my best friend. Now get up!" He shoved Gus off the bed.

There was a long groan, then "...No."

O

"What do you want, Mark?"

Shawn's hand curled around the corner of the building, allowing himself a split second of a glance before drawing back. There he was, the light from the streetlamp dripping over his ragged frame. Smoke trailed from the corners of his mouth. Jack.

Mark's voice. "It's Dad. I—He's not doing good. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep covering for him. You have to help me."

Jack gave a short, hoarse laugh that was more like the bark of a dog than any actual human sound. "Why do you even care, Mark? Why do you care _so_ much about that grade-A asshat? What he'd ever do to you?"

"He's my _Dad._ We can't just give up on him!"

A long exhale, then, "You know what they're saying. That he killed—"

"Jack, stop. _Please_ , stop it."

"Well, then, where did she go, huh? Let's face it, she either got smart and realized that her family was nothing more than dog piss, or _he..._ " For a second Jack's voice stuttered, almost cracked. "He killed her."

" _Jack_ —"

"Little innocent Marky Osborne. I'm surprised you decided to keep that name. Mark the 'knight in shining armor,' Marky-poo, the one who's always trying to save—"

"You used to listen to me. We used to talk." There were the sounds of footsteps, retreating, the muttered words, "Guess that was too much to ask for."

"Guess it was."

And then there was silence. Shawn closed his eyes, and ran through all the lyrics of "This is Gospel" twice, then took a breath and walked around the corner of the building, letting out a small cough.

Jack rolled an eye towards him, twisting a crumbling cigarette in his fingers. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, man, how's it going?" Shawn said, his hands digging into his pockets, his shoulders hunched up. "I've been hearing some rumors about you, just had to come and ask if they were true. Grapevine's been saying you've taken up the business of dog murdering."

Jack gave him a look that clearly said he was questioning Shawn's sanity. "And you care… why? This some kind of code saying you want drugs?"

"Pffft, nah, man. Just curious, since there's already a shortage of dogs in this city. Stuff that like that, it's news."

Jack took another drag on his cigarette, then, "Truly. Spoken like someone who hasn't lived through the last two terrorist attacks. That stupid mutt bit me, tried to take my arm off. I killed it." He gave a rasping cough, then something like a chuckle escaped his throat. "It's gonna make headlines."

 _That's it,_ Shawn thought. _Come on…._

"Yeah, man, you'll be famous. I bet—"

Something smashed into his face, knocking his head back against the wall. Pain exploded in his head; bright lights in front of his vision. The ground twisted beneath his feet.

He stumbled, lurching forward, then back again. His back bumped against something solid, jerking his movement to a stop, though the world around him continued to move.

"What the… hell, man?" Shawn muttered, reaching up a hand to swipe under his nose.

Jack's voice was nothing but a growl. "Report me."

"W…What?"

Jack lurched forward, his arm whipping up to slam against Shawn's windpipe. His face was less than two inches from Shawn's, his face pulled into a snarl.

"Go ahead. Tell the police. Tell them all about how you got attacked by me. Make an accusation."

Shawn just stared at him. It felt like ice was shooting through his veins. His hand scrabbled against the brick wall, his fingers searching for something to grab.

"Tell them I killed Sam. That's what you think, right?"

"Nah—not you," Shawn gasped. He barely knew what he was saying. "Uh—that guy—you were with, I'm actually thinking—uh, he—"

 _What am I saying; shut up Shawn,_ shut up!

Something cold and wet flew at him out of nowhere and smacked the length of his side. It took a few moments before he realized he was lying on his side in the middle of the street. Probably the most vulnerable position he could be in right now.

A boot slammed into his side, knocking the breath out of his body. Then his heart was flying against his ribcage with the force of a sledgehammer, his limbs were tingling with the urge to run, _Shawn you idiot, get out of there._

Jack took a step towards him. "You can't pin anything on me. But I'd sure like to see you try."

He smacked his hands against the ground and flung himself up, stumbling backwards. His vision smeared in and out of focus.

Run.

A coward's move.

His only choice.

"Yeah, uh, okay, it's been great, I'm going to head out—" Shawn turned and began sprinting away, a jarring sensation ripping through his body as his feet slammed against the pavement.

Something grabbed his collar and jerked him backwards.

And the world was turning over. And everything was upside down. And something whacked against his back.

Shawn let out a soft moan, as his throat squeezed and his stomach contorted. But he'd barely eaten anything all day, and there was nothing to come up. He balled his hands into fists, fighting against the pain, fighting against the nausea.

He dragged his knees under his stomach, pressed his fists against the ground. Then he saw Jack standing with his arms crossed, legs slightly apart, standing over Shawn like a hunter over his prey.

"Don't come looking for me again," Jack said. "In fact, it might be best for everyone if you just mind your own damn business."

Shawn didn't reply, didn't take his eyes off Jack's face. His arms were shaking so badly he didn't know how much longer he could hold himself up.

Then Jack's boot slammed into Shawn's face, knocking him back down easily.

"Until next time."

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, so I wanted a reference for Shawn to make, and since I've actually never really listened to Panic! At the Disco, I figured I'd give it a listen. Welp, let's just say I was trying my best not to burst into song and be content with silently rocking out, (IF YOU LOVE ME LET ME GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO) as my roommate was sleeping at the time. XD_

 _And then I watched the piano version of "This is Gospel." Goodness gracious. If you have not watched that… OH GOODNESS… Go. Now._

 _Anyway, don't know how long it will be until the next chapter, but I hope this longer chapter is enough to carry you guys over for a while. Next chapter will have a lot of answers in it… also some more questions..._

 _If anyone has any predictions on what's going on in this chapter, or just in general, I'd love to hear them! If you look closely... you may see some things starting to connect..._


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Oh jeez, has it really been a whole month? *sheepish grin* Whoops. It's been a bit crazy with finals and holidays and writing all these hurt/comfort fics that star my friend and I's characters from Dungeons and Dragons and their fluffy father/daughter relationship (halfway considering posting some of them...?) and all that, but things have settled down now. Also... 5,000 words? My chapters just keep getting longer and longer, don't they? XD_

* * *

Shawn held his breath as he slowly turned the doorknob. The door let out a small creak as it opened, and he gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted right now was to wake someone up.

There was a small thud as Shawn pressed his back against the door, letting the latch click into place. He reached up a hand and groped until he found the switch, then twisted it so the deadbolt fell into place.

He slid into a sitting position and let out a small groan. His nose was throbbing, though the bleeding had stopped. His entire body ached, and he was just so damn _tired_ …

Something brushed against his leg.

Shawn flinched, cold shooting through his entire body. "W-Wait, _wait,_ uh—"

" _Mrrrow?"_

Shawn let out his breath, a fraction of the tension in his body loosening. He reached out his hands, feeling them close around Boots' warm, soft body. "Hey, buddy," he said, fingers tickling under the cat's chin. He could feel the animal's throat vibrating with purrs. He let out a long, shuddering sigh and pulled the small cat closer to him.

He didn't move for a long time.

o

"Shawn? Why… are you sleeping by the door?"

Shawn's eyes flew open. His head jerked up, banging against the door. "Ow!" he said, scowling, as he scrubbed a hand over the spot.

There was a click, and light flooded his vision, and Shawn threw up his arm to cover his eyes. "Guuuus!"

"Shawn! What happened to you?"

"Uhhhh…" Shawn let out a mumbled groan. "I was being an idiot. Maybe."

"What do you mean 'maybe?' What happened? Your face is all bloody!" Gus said, his voice a hiss.

Shawn didn't answer. Instead he heaved himself up, using the weak light of the lamp to stumble over to the kitchen sink. Pain sparked through his back.

"Oh no..." Gus said. "You went out there. You went out there and the guy in black… he tried to kill you!"

"He didn't try to kill me, Gus," Shawn said with a groan. "He just got a lucky hit. Or… ten. I kinda lost count?"

"We should go to the hospital—You're a mess."

Shawn snorted, an action that quickly turned into "Ow, ow _ow…_ " as pain shot through his nose.

"Okay, that's it—"

"No, I'm fine. Plus, it's a creepy hospital. People are disappearing."

"…what?"

"Yeah, while I was there, I overheard this doctor talking to Mark about how someone had disappeared."

"But—"

"I'm fine."

Shawn reached out his had turning the facet handle. The metal was cool beneath his fingers, soothing. He let his hands slide under the stream of water, feeling the liquid cold slide over his stinging palms. "Gus… just don't say…"

"This is my fault."

Shawn's gaze flicked up. Gus stood next to him, palms spread out on the counter.

"I should have gone with you. Or at least told you not to be an idiot and just stay inside. Did you… at least get any clues?"

"Sorta," Shawn said, grabbing a paper towel and scrubbing it under his nose a little more roughly than necessary. "It was Jack out there. He was pretty pissed off about something and I think he decided to just take it out on me. I'm also getting the feeling Mark and Jack are siblings."

"You think they're brothers?"

"Yeah, I mean, they at least argue like they are. There was also something about someone killing someone… think they might have been talking about Sam, but if he was… why'd he be so broken up about it? I mean…" He trailed off, lowering his face into his palms as the floor tilted. Then he felt a hand on his arm, steadying him and his body relaxed.

There was the sound of trickling water, then—

"Shawn. Here."

Shawn lifted his head a fraction to see Gus holding out a dripping washcloth.

"For your—you're a little, uh, bloodied up, there," Gus said, gesturing to his own face, which was pulled into a grimace.

Shawn simply took the washcloth and buried his face in it. "Uhhhh, that feels good," he moaned. "Hey Gus… carry me to the couch, would ya?"

"Uh… I don't think I'm strong enough for that."

"Guess I'll just…" He slid down into a sitting position. "Just stay here for the night."

"Don't make me drag you, Shawn," Gus said, leaning down and offering a hand. Shawn took it, letting his friend half-lead, half-drag him back to the couch. As soon as his tired body hit the couch, Boots jumped up on him, purring and kneading his paws on Shawn's back.

"Shawn, I don't know about this."

"Huh?"

"I mean… Maybe we should just give this up. I mean—these people aren't messing around."

"Can't man," Shawn said. "We said we'd help find out what happened to Sam. We have to figure it out."

o

"Jeez, what happened to your face?" Heidi asked, peering at him from around her computer.

Shawn gave a mumbling groan before adjusting the washcloth on his nose. Stupid thing wouldn't quit throbbing, otherwise he wouldn't have brought it in. "Well, I just happened to be out in the Glades last night when I—"

"You look like someone wiped the floor with you," Heidi said. "I don't blame you, though, that kinda thing happens a lot in the Glades. And I'm guessing you'd like to report it, which means, my whole afternoon is now gone." She gave a short huff.

"Uh yeah… about that…" Shawn coughed into his hand. "Honestly, that's not really important right now. Uh, I mean, we're here to look up the records. Anyway, what I was going to say is that I was trying to save someone's life. Before I got... beat up."

"How does that work, Shawn?" Gus asked.

"Well, I'm trying to bring a killer to justice, so they can't hurt anyone anymore. So technically, saving someone's life."

"But we don't even know if they're planning to kill anyone else."

"We don't even know if they killed Sam," Heidi muttered, her eyes fixed on the screen.

Shawn frowned. "Hey, what was the results of the toxicology?"

"There's was a lot of drugs in her system. A mixed batch, bit of heroin, opium, marijuana, you name it. From what me and Reuben have been able to dig up, she's had a history or getting caught either high or in possession of drugs, so even I wouldn't put it past her. There was one weird thing though."

"What?" Shawn and Gus both asked at the same time.

"A small dose of some unidentified drug. No, it wasn't poison, or at least the usual kinds. Probably just some weird mixture of something."

"What about the fingerprints?"

Heidi shook her head. "No results yet."

"What about the time of death?" Shawn asked, turning towards Heidi.

"Um..." There was a brief shuffling of files, then, "November tenth, anywhere from five to seven in the evening. But if you're looking for a murderer, I don't see how that's going to help you. There weren't any traumas large enough to cause death. Some pricks all up her forearm, even in her shoulder."

Shawn grabbed Gus' arm, wrenching him in the opposite direction. "I knew it!" he hissed. "Who stabs themselves with a needle in the shoulder? It'd be much easier to do it in the wrist."

He felt Gus shudder slightly under his grip. "Who stabs themselves at all?"

"Crazy people, that's who."

Shawn nodded, shoving the info to the back of his mind where he could think about it later. "Hey Heidi, can we check out those records? I found out what Mark's last name is. I'm sensing it's Mark... Oz... Oswin… Oswold? No… Osborne."

"Sure, knock yourselves out." She rolled the chair away from the computer. "Not literally. You look bad enough already. And I assume you know how to look up police records?" She raised her eyebrows, as if daring him to tell her "No."

"We've done this loads of times before," Gus said, bending over the computer. "Hey, look at this."

"What?" Shawn jerked his head up from dismantling Heidi's very elaborate pen.

"Jack and Mark are brothers."

Shawn dropped the pen, a grin spreading over his face. Finally, something that made sense. "I was right. That's why Mark was out asking for his help."

Gus nodded. "Okay, so according to this, Mark's only been arrested once, about a month or two ago, for being in possession of drugs." There were a few clicks, then "Jack, on the other hand, he's got quite a few more black marks. And apparently their dad, Sampson is in here too. He—he's the guy that chased us out of the 'hotel'," Gus muttered.

Shawn snorted. "Sam and Sampson. Things must get really confusing around there."

"But that might explain why he was there. Just visiting his dad. And... hey, listen to this. Apparently, the police thought he killed his wife a few years back, but they couldn't find enough evidence to convict him."

" _Let's face it, she either got smart and realized that her family was nothing more than dog piss, or he..." For a second Jack's voice stuttered, almost cracked. "He killed her."_

"Seems like Jack felt the same way," Shawn muttered. He put his elbow on Gus' shoulder and rested his face in his hand, eyes scanning over the document. "There's an address to Mark's last known residence. We could go see if the one and only Mister Creepsalot's home."

"Uh, what do you mean, 'the one and only'?" Gus asked. Shawn barely heard him. "I mean, I haven't met Mark yet, but I think both Sampson and Jack both deserve the title of Mister Creepsalot."

Something inside Shawn's mind clicked.

"Wait a second," Shawn lifted a finger and placed it on his temple.

"What?"

"Mayhaps I sees a theory emerging. So, Jack's Mark's brother. And Jack has a serious bone to pick with Sam. So maybe he goes and tells Mark to go kidnap her, or maybe just scare her a little. Mark agrees because she's been causing trouble for his father, Sampson. Maybe if he gets rid of Sam, Sampson will be grateful and start listening to him again. But… maybe, he goes too far and accidentally kills her. Or purposefully kills her. So, he goes and gets some drugs into her system to make it all just look like your basic run-of-the-mill OD. Motive, plus means, plus evidence, equals arrest warrant. Gus, what's my time?

"Not bad," Gus said, glancing down at his watch.

"Now," Shawn said, "we can go see Mister Creepsalot."

o

Shawn raised his hand and knocked for what seemed like the hundredth time. When nothing happened, he pulled back his hand and rubbed his throbbing knuckles, adding them to the list of injuries.

He stared up at the house, and the small house stared back at him. As far as Shawn could tell, it was a one story, probably three-room place, if you included the bathroom. The beaten and bruised walls sagged, and the roof looked about ready to collapse. The only good thing about it was it didn't reek like all the other houses they had passed.

"C'mon, Mark! We just want to talk," Shawn said, one last, desperate plea.

"I don't think he's home, Shawn."

"Alright, alright, fine," Shawn said. "We'll move to plan B."

"You mean talk to Jack?"

"Break into the house. It seems like the much safer option."

"You know that's right," Gus said.

Shawn crouched down on the steps, fingers brushing over the bristly door mat. He lifted it up, and swept his hand across the flaky concrete... then he felt something smooth.

"Shawn, that's a beetle."

Shawn gave a girlish scream and jerked his hand back, before rubbing it on his pants until his entire hand felt like it was on fire. "You know what? Forget the key, who needs keys? Let's try the windows."

Shawn spared a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching, then crept around the side of the house to one of the windows. The edges were covered in gunk and rust. Shawn allowed himself a grimace before wrapping his fingers around the edge and shoving upwards. The window lifted a fraction.

He shoved for a good thirty seconds more, but nothing changed.

"Come on, Gus," he whispered, before carefully maneuvering his body through the small crack. A second later, Gus followed.

"Why do I have a feeling we're going to find Mark in here, dead?" Gus muttered, picking himself up and sweeping a hand across his shirt to get the dust off.

"Well, the super sniffer doesn't smell any dead bodies, does it?" Shawn asked, sniffling loudly.

Gus just gave a "tsk" and turned away to start pulling drawers open. Shawn stepped over to a desk that was nearly covered in papers. Under a small bottle marked zanamivr, he found a very well-written article on Combt de San German, who apparently was immortal and/or a time traveler. He flipped the paper over.

Another Freemason's code.

Just then Gus screamed. Maybe more like a yell. Or the sound someone would make if they found a dead wasp in their soda.

"Gus?" Shawn yelled. "Are you dying?"

Gus gave him an annoyed look from across the room. "No, Shawn. I found something." He held up a hand full of pill bottles. "Looks like someone's got some drugs here. But that's not all." He yanked open a drawer. Shawn scrambled over to look inside.

It was a knife, sitting quietly in a plastic ziplock bag. A rusty, bloodstained knife.

 _The compartment they had found in the subway tunnel wall, marked only by a few thin scrapes and nicks on the wall surrounding it._

"This must be the thing," Shawn said. "The thing he picked up from the Undertaking. Which would mean the two guys in the photo are Mark and Jack. Which means…" Shawn trailed off. "Dude, I think I got it."

"What? Got what?"

Shawn grabbed the Freemason's code off the desk. "We gotta get to Captain Lance. Dude, we did it! Our first case in Starling, solved!"

 _Click._

It was the sort of click that a lock made when it slid back into a door. The doorknob began to turn.

Shawn leaped towards the window, then almost choked as something grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back. Gus.

"He'll see us if we go out that way!" Gus hissed.

"Fine… _fine_!"

Shawn bolted into the tiny bathroom, pressing himself against the wall. A second later, Gus' body slammed into his. Gus reached out and pulled the door to the frame, just as they heard the main door swing open.

Shawn pulled himself as far away from Gus as he could, which was all of a fraction of an inch, and swept his gaze over dark room.

 _C'mon, c'mon…_

There was no window in the bathroom.

No means of escape.

"Well this is great," Gus whispered, trying to edge farther away from the door.

"Dude, I can't _breathe_!"

Just then they heard the slam of a fist against a table.

"Really, Jack?" they heard Mark yell. "Oh, that's real mature, _real_ mature. That's a great revenge: just come in here and mess up my stuff, just like when we were kids. I swear… I'm gonna kill you!" A sigh, then, "Okay, you know what I mean, not literally." Another pause. "You're not even here, why am I talking to you? Never should have taken this stupid job."

 _What job?_

"I mean, if you'd just listen to me, Jack, I— _augh_! Why am I still talking to you?"

There was the crinkle of papers, then the creak of a door, followed by a soft thud.

Shawn pushed Gus off him and began groping for the door knob, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plausible reason of why they were in his house.

The door swung open, and Shawn sidled out into the main room. The door to the bedroom was open just enough so he could see Mark sitting on his bed. He was flipping over some papers, a pen gripped between his teeth.

Shawn took another step towards the door, teeth clenched. Then a tickle rose in his throat, one he knew would be followed by a cough.

 _No, no, oh nonononono, crap crap craaaaaa..._

He all but bolted towards the front door, slipped out, jumped down the steps, and burst into the worst coughing fit he'd ever had, probably in his entire life. When he finally managed to get his breath back, he looked up to see Gus staring at him, eyebrows drawn together.

"You sure you don't have pneumonia?" Gus asked.

o

"Captain!" Shawn burst into Lance's office. The man's head jerked up, his eyes wide. Then he let out a sigh, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You two again. Didn't anyone back at Santa Barbara ever teach you to knock?" Lance asked.

Shawn offered a sheepish grin. "Um, sorry. But—" His hand flew to his temple. "—I figured it out. I know who killed Sam, and why."

"That was quick."

"We pride ourselves on a speedy delivery," Gus said.

"So," Shawn said, then frowned. "This is weird, usually the criminal's holding me at gunpoint or something. Anyway, Mark Osborne is holding a secret. The final clue to his mother's murder. A bloodstained knife, one that could be easily tested for good old DNA. DNA that just might belong to his father. But he can't do that. He can't let his father get convicted for murder. So, instead of burying the hatchet, literally, he decides to hide it, and keep the location... _incodenito._ "

"That is literally one of the worst puns I've ever heard," Gus said.

"I don't get it," Lance said. "What's this got to do with Sam?"

"You gotta have the buildup!" Shawn said. "Anyway, I was about to get that. You see, Sam found this code, which just happens to be the very code you found in her hands. She followed the clues and found the knife. Finally, something she can use to her advantage. So, she goes to Jack, threatening to expose him if he doesn't cancel her debt. Which leads him to go to his brother Mark, and tell him to take care of Sam. And what better way to stage an accident than a simple drug overdose? Silent and deadly. The perfect weapon."

Lance gave him a look, his finger steepled, elbows pressed against the wood of the desk. "You got any evidence to back this up?"

"Yes, I'm…" Shawn pressed his finger against his temple. "I'm getting something. Mark's been in possession of drugs before. I have a very strong feeling that if you go to Mark's house, you'll find a good stash. But not only that. You'll find the bloody knife that started it all."

Lance was silent for a long moment, twiddling with one of the pens on his desk. Then he said, "So you went into his house without a warrant, eh?"

"What?" Shawn felt a small trickle of ice run down his arms. "No, I sensed—"

"You do know that's what they call breaking and entering, right? Breaking the law, if you want it in plain words. Any evidence you got from there won't hold water in court."

Gus stepped forward. "When we went to Sampson's... uh, where Sam used to live, we found dirt stains. They matched the kind someone with a limp would leave. Mark has a slight limp."

"Circumstantial," Lance said. Then he sighed. "Guess it couldn't hurt to ask him a few questions."

Shawn grinned. "You won't be dis—"

"Oh, and you two are off the case."

Shawn blinked. "What?"

"But—you can't—why?" Gus said.

"I hafta admit, the dirt stains are solid, but I'm sorry, if this is the way you two gather evidence, I'm sorry, but I can't let you stay on this case."

"But I _sensed_ it," Shawn said. "Just like I sense how you've got two daughters, one with light blond hair, the other with golden brown. And you've got a heart condition."

"Yeah, yeah, so you read my bio online," Lance said, standing up. He knocked one of the drawers that was slightly open. As he did, Shawn heard the clink of glass on glass. The kind a bottle would make.

"And... you've got a drinking problem," Shawn said.

Lance stopped, his back to them, one hand on a filing cabinet. Then he turned around, his eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists. "Who told you that?" he said.

"No one! I told you, I'm—"

"Get out." Lance stabbed the air with his finger, pointing to the door. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."

o

They had barely made it back to Ava's when Shawn was bolting to the bathroom, his head over the toilet, spitting out stomach acid.

Great. Even his own body was rejecting him now.

And now here he was sitting on the cold tile floor, shivering and sweating at the same time.

 _Guess I really had it easy back in Santa Barbara._

Everyone there knew him, knew his methods, accepted his visions. For the most part. But even Lassie couldn't argue with the results.

There was no Arrow to compete with, no skeptic captain to convince. He had Jules and Lassie to help him along the way. Now he was in Starling, there was little they could to help him in terms of legal stuff.

He didn't even have the motivation to heave himself up to get that awful taste out of his mouth. He rubbed at beary eyes that refused to focus, then dropped his hands back down, too tired even for that. _Guess I'll just stay here forever._

Then his phone buzzed. Shawn gave a _urgghhhh_ and pulled out his phone. He recognized the number as Heidi's and picked up.

"What's up?" he croaked.

"Hey, Mr. Shergar. Thought you might like to know that talked to Mark. He said he said, yeah, he was in the hotel the same day Sam was allegedly kidnapped, November fifth."

Shawn's breath caught. "And?"

"He said he'd gone there with a social worker, trying to convince his father to... 'get it together.' "

Shawn could hear the air quotes in the detective's voice, and almost snickered. Almost.

"But here's the thing, Mr. Shergar: both him and the social worker were able to confirm Sam was in the building when they came in. They were talking to Sampson when they heard some scuffling in the next room. When they left, they saw no signs of Sam. Jack was at a bar with several witnesses who confirmed his position at the time, and neither have come to see Sampson since."

Shawn gave a snort. "Seems kinda convoluted. I mean, he happens to be there right when she's being kidnapped?"

"We also were able to get the fingerprints off the picture. Yeah, it's got Mark and Jack's on there, mostly Mark's, but I don't see how this is going to help you in your investigation."

"Wait…" Shawn felt a tingle of warmth break through his shivering body. "Does this mean Gus and me are back on the case?"

"You got kicked off the case? What did you—"

"Anyway, good luck with the case, bye."

"Are you okay, Shawn?"

"Fine. Never better. 'M like a can of rice in an oven," Shawn muttered.

"Uh… what?"

"Nothing." Shawn jerked his gaze up to see Gus standing in the doorway.

"So, what now?" Gus asked, his voice soft.

"Just hope no one tells the chief about this." Shawn let out a sigh and wrapped his fingers tighter around the smooth surface of his phone.

Gus dug his hands into his pockets. "We're gonna have to head back soon. You're sick and… I mean, we can't stay at Ava's forever. I just... I hate loose ends. Leaving here not knowing who did it."

"Yeah…" Shawn said. "I was looking forward to getting payed. Maybe buying Ava a whole bunch of bacon cheese fries for letting us stay here."

"You know that's right."

"Maybe a pineapple thrown in." His gaze flicked to Gus, feeling a small grin pull at the corner of his mouth. "Y'know, this isn't the first time we've gotten thrown off a case. Maybe we shouldn't give up just yet."

o

Two days. Two days and they'd accomplished nothing. They'd talked to Roy, but since he had fallen out of touch with Sam, and the few leads he did manage to produce were all dead ends. Sam was a loner. Sure, people saw her around sometimes, but she was little more than a face in a crowd. A ghost. They'd also tried talking to Oliver, but he was even less help.

And speaking of Oliver Queen, well, they... might have dragged him along on a crazy adventure that was _entirely_ Gus' idea. One that started with jerk chicken and ended with them maybe almost getting arrested. Almost.

His phone was making weird noises again. Shawn let out a loud groan and threw a pillow over his head, but it did little to block out the noise.

"This better not be some weird dream again," he mumbled into the fabric. With one hand he reached out and slapped at the coffee table until his fingers connected with the device.

His eyes flicked to the new text.

 _Me and Ava headed out for some sightseeing. I know how much you hate getting woken up, so we decided to let you sleep. Be back by 1._

 _-Gus_

Shawn squinted at the time the text was sent. 10 AM. Sent about an hour ago. _Ugh._ He flopped back against the couch cushions. Maybe he'd get lucky and his body would actually let him sleep for once.

 _There must be something… Anything…_

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut, letting the memories flick across his eyes. He was standing in the alley, where they had found the dog, the scent of jasmine and beer mixing together. He was in Sam's old room. Underneath the layer of rotten food and flies… there it was. That same scent.

Shawn sat bolt upright. "Holy carp."

The scent at both crime scenes matched up almost perfectly.

Shawn's hand shot out and grabbed his phone before he even really realized what he was doing. His fingers rushed over the keys, not bothering to check the spelling before he hit send.

" _Gus i think i found smoethigan big."_

A few seconds later, his phone dinged.

" _That's what you said last time. -Gus"_

" _no i think the two cases are connected. remember how you smelled jasmine at both crime scenes?"_

" _So? Sam might have had a dog and they killed it to intimidate her."_

Shawn gave a small groan. "C'mon Gus, you're better than this." He texted, _"Remember how Jack said he killed the dog because it attacked him? Someone must have come along later and picked it up. That's why we didn't find it later."_

The pause was a little longer than before.

" _Oh yeah. Forgot about that. So then why pick up the dog? What's this got to do with Sam?"_

Shawn set down the phone and began chewing on his lip. Now that was a good question. Jack had confirmed he had killed the dog. But then he had left. And someone else came.

His phone dinged again.

" _Uh, Ava's glaring at me, gotta go."_

Shawn smirked, before heaving himself up off the couch. _Now…_

His stomach growled. A blast of cold swept over him as he opened the fridge, eyes scanning over the contents.

It was all but confirmed now that Jack had killed that dog. That was most likely where the beer scent had come from. He picked up a jar of mayonnaise. Only two weeks past the expiration date. Then, who had created the lemon jasmine scent? Could it be Sam? Or could it be someone else… an accomplice? Or maybe someone who wanted something with the dog Jack had killed…

 _Ding._

" _SHAWN. YOU WRE RIHT."_

Shawn almost dropped the jar of mayo.

" _You ned to meet up with us ASAP. Take Ava's car, I'll send you the coordinates."_

"Ava has a car?" Shawn muttered to himself. He glanced out the window at the splattering rain (seemed like it was always raining in this city) and grabbed a raincoat, before starting his search for the keys.

It took him all of thirty seconds to find the keys, and all of five minutes to locate the car. It was an old, tired Sedan, with the paint chipped and worn, the edges brown with rust. The engine coughed when it turned the key, and it took him several tries to get it to catch.

The windshield wipers scraped against the glass, but it kept the rain off just enough to see. The traffic thinned, then disappeared entirely as he headed out of Starling City.

What had he found? And... why had he stopped signing his name at the bottom? He always did that.

The car slid to a squeaky stop as the light turned red, and Shawn took a moment to glance out the window and the lake just past the road. The raindrops made thousands of tiny ripples as they shattered the water's surface. Then the light turned green again, and Shawn stepped on the gas. The engine revved for a second before catching and the car lurched forward.

He must have just been excited. But still. It was weird-

Bright lights shot into the corner of Shawn's vision. Headlights. He turned his head just in time to see the car heading straight towards him.

Then the world exploded.

* * *

 _A/N: Muwahaha! My first real big cliffie!_

 _Also, that second scene is courtesy of my beta, cosette141, who convinced me to add "a little more hurt/comfort" into the mix, haha._

 _And that jar of mayo is a tribute to that time when I was sitting in a friend's Dungeons and Dragons session and they all risked their lives and destroyed a temple all for a jar that can produce (a gallon or so at a time): wine, poison, ale, and... mayo. And of course one of the guys is absolutely giddy about this whole thing and goes and dumps mayo on their guide, much to the guide's annoyance._


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: Oh jeez, oh jeeeeez, I'm so sorry. Almost two months. I came back to school, got sidetracked with collabing stories with my friend, and then ran into a bit of drama with the friend group..._

 _Anyway._

 _It's here now._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

Why was it so… wet? It was like he was sitting in a giant puddle of... _oh gross._

 _Don't even go there,_ he thought. _Nope. Now what…_

Darkness draped over his vision. A faint hissing dug in his ears. Annoying. High pitched.

 _Where..._

Shawn squinted. A spiderweb of cracks flickered in his vison. Cracked glass. Cracked windshield. He glanced down. Water. Almost up to his knees. Oh. Now it was over his knees. He let out a slow breath. _Didn't pee my pants._

Then something clicked inside of him.

His back arched as pain flooded his body, crashing over him like a wave of fire. His hands clenched, a hiss escaped his clenched teeth.

 _Oh, God. Oh… God._

Water surrounded him on all sides. The putrid smell of oil filled his nose and mouth and he wanted to gag. He was trapped in the car. He was going to drown.

Breath was rushing into his body too fast, he was gulping down air and it wasn't enough. His body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Not drowning. Please. Anything but that.

His gaze flew around the small space, breath jerking in and out. Window—the window was shattered. Out. Escape. He could crawl out.

Shawn's fingers flew to the seatbelt that had both saved his life and was now ending it. He tried get it off. It was jammed. He yanked. _Please_.

The metal part smacked across his face as it flew free. His eyes watered from the impact. He definitely wasn't crying right now. Nope.

 _Now._

 _Get._

 _Out_.

He squirmed, trying to force his body towards the open window. But it refused.

 _Why can't… I…_

 _No._

It was his leg. It was trapped, pinned between some part of the car that he couldn't even name.

Something warm and sticky dripped down his face. He swiped at it, trying to get rid of the feeling, and fresh pain ripped through the side of his face. Chills wrapped their fingers around him, fingers that turned burning hot.

 _Can't breathe, can't_ —Deep breath. A good cop doesn't lose his head, his dad always said.

Too bad he wasn't a cop.

He smacked his hands down on the seat and pushed firmly. For a second his leg refused to move, and nausea rose up in his throat. It was choking him.

Deep breath.

He wiggled his leg, he squirmed, pulled, and his leg came loose, just as the water came pouring in through the shattered window. Shawn had just enough time for a gasp.

Before he knew what was happening, the inside of the car was a churning, swirling mass of water, where there was nothing to breathe. It knocked against him with the force of a sledge hammer, forcing him back.

Then it was still. And Shawn crawled out of the window, ignoring the scrape of broken glass against his skin.

Numbness had settled in once again. There was no pain.

He clawed towards the light. Then he broke the surface, gulping down air. His arms and legs felt like lead... had to get to shore... quick.

Shawn kicked off his shoes, his hands reaching towards the bank, trying not to think about how utterly disgusting the water must be.

Then...

He could touch the bottom. He took one stumbling step onto the small outcropping of mucky ground, then his legs crumpled and his body hit the ground.

Alive. He made it. He was alive.

…Hah!

 _Take that, random person who just tried to kill me,_ Shawn thought. His fingers curled around a handful of the muck, his hand trembling.

"Where'd he go?"

"Dude, what the—? We—We weren't supposed to kill him!"

"He was going to die anyway."

"Oh my g—you—but—I—Whistler's—gonna be pissed at us."

"Humans want to survive. Maybe he did."

"Oh. Y-yeah, you know, I think I saw something."

"Go check. Make sure."

The wail of siren filled his ears, growing louder. Then a growled curse.

"Oh, cra…. Someone must have heard the noise. We have to go, now. They're gonna find us, I know it, we left too much evidence behind—what if he—"

A car door slammed.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

"But—"

"If he's alive, we'll know where to find him."

Shuddering, Shawn pulled himself farther up on shore and curled up on the soggy ground.

His phone. He needed his phone. Shawn unzipped his coat pocket, pulling out his phone. Need to…. call someone.

The small device shook in his fingers. Moisture clung to the screen, but it still looked functional.

One tap.

Then another.

His vision blurred, the screen going out of focus. He stared at it, blinking as drops of water slid down his face.

Felicity.

There were… little black dots. Everywhere. It was making it hard to see…

 _"Hey, Shawn, what's up?"_

"Felicity... I... um..." Shawn blinked. The sand tipped underneath him. "Someone…" The word broke off into a cough, one that shook through his entire body.

" _Shawn? What's going on? Are you okay?"_

"Someone's… uh… trying really hard... to kill me..."

The black spots had almost covered his vision. He couldn't feel the sand beneath his fingers anymore.

" _What's going on? No, wait, you don't have to answer. I'm calling 911."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

" _He's gone. Disappeared from this hospital. I—I think he was kidnapped."_

 _._

" _We'll know where to find him."_

 _._

 _._

 _._

"No… you can't..."

" _Shawn? Stay with me. What are you talking about?"_

"You can't… they'll kill me. Can't… know… where I am. Please."

Then he felt the phone slip out his hands, and everything went black.

o

Felicity let out a jaw-cracking yawn and took off her glasses to rub at bleary eyes, before slumping back in her chair. The cushions took her weary weight graciously. Between investigating the mysterious man (or men or woman or women or men and women) in black, taking down this week's criminals, and working for Ray, she was exhausted.

Roy and Diggle had packed up and called it a night around 4 o'clock, but she had gotten distracted with upgrading the computers' systems... yet again, and so here she was, still in the Arrow Cave at ten in the morning. And she'd promised Ray she'd get to work by eleven at the latest. So much for sleeping.

"You look tired."

Felicity jumped, nearly falling out of her chair. She pushed her foot against the floor and spun the chair around to see Oliver.

"I forgot you're staying down here," she said, slumping even lower down in the chair and letting out a groan. "You know we're all willing to lend you our couches. Except maybe Roy, because I don't think he has a couch... no nice... fluffy couch. With lots of blankets." She yawned again.

"Go home," Oliver said, the ends of his mouth twisting into a small smile. "Get some sleep. You did good tonight."

Wow. A compliment.

She must really look pitiful.

Felicity was debating whether it was worth the effort to even drag herself out of her nice... cozy chair and back to her apartment when her phone buzzed. Shawn.

"Hey, Shawn, what's up?"

 _"Felicity... I... um..."_ He sounded groggy. Almost drunk. At ten in the morning. Wait, that didn't make sense. Had he called her by accident?

 _"Someone…"_

It was a strained, whispered word, breaking into a rattling cough. No, that didn't sound like someone who was tired.

It sounded like someone in pain.

"Shawn? What's going on? Are you okay?"

It took her a second to make out his words. His voice was so soft and raspy she could barely hear it.

" _Someone's… uh… trying really hard... to kill me..."_

A cold shiver ran through Felicity's body, jerking it into wakefulness. "What's going on? No, wait, you don't have to answer." She set the phone down and began almost pounding at the keyboard, trying to trace the call. "I'm calling 911."

" _No… you can't..."_

"Shawn, stay with me." Her eyes narrowed. What was he doing near the E-34 bridge? "What are you talking about?"

" _You can't… they'll kill me. Can't… know… where I am. Please."_

A shuddering exhale.

Then…

Silence.

" _Shawn?_ "

"What's going on?" Oliver came up beside her, eyebrows creased into a frown.

"It's Shawn. He's in trouble."

o

Oliver glanced down at his phone, the other hand reaching out to slam the van door shut. Unless Felicity's hacking skills had suddenly failed her, this was where Shawn was. Or at least where his phone was.

Oliver glanced at the dented guard rail on the bridge, at the fresh black streaks the tires had left and winced. He placed one hand on the guard rail and swung himself over, onto the small outcropping of sand.

There Shawn was, crumpled on the ground like a wet blanket. In two seconds he was crouched beside the psychic, shaking his shoulder.

"Shawn, can you hear me?"

A mumbling groan was the only response. Blood crusted over the side of his face, mixed with bits of mud and sand. Oliver ran a gentle hand down his ribs, and although Shawn mumbled something in response, he didn't show any signs of pain, and nothing felt or looked broken.

Oliver kept his hand on Shawn's shoulder and tapped his phone. Felicity picked up at the first ring.

"I found Shawn," Oliver said. "He looks a bit roughed up, but other than that, he seems okay, though it looks like he might have a concussion."

There was a loud whoosh of breath, then Felicity said, "Diggle's on his way. Are... are you sure you want to do this?"

"You're the one who found the rumors about the missing people. You know better than anyone he wouldn't be safe there."

"I know, it's just... are you ready to let him know your secret?"

Oliver looked down at Shawn, and gave a small "heh" that might have been the beginnings of a laugh. "He's a psychic. He'd have figured it out eventually."

o

Ugh.

Hangover time.

Yes, this was proving to be a good one. His skull felt ready to crack, the thumps of pain sharp and hard.

But… it wasn't just that. His whole body hurt. Fire burned across his chest in a downward slash and his leg was throbbing. Pain shot his neck into his shoulder. Musta... got in a fight or...

Car crash.

Shawn jerked, gulping down a huge breath of air. His eyes snapped open, and pain slammed against his skull at the change in light. Where was he, what—

"Shawn—Shawn it's okay, you're safe. Just calm down."

It was Felicity's voice. Her hand was on him, steady, reassuring. He groaned and slumped against whatever he was laying on... it was soft.

"What do you remember?"

Shawn kept his eyes shut and watched the memories flash across his mind's eye. "Car crash," he said, his words flat. "Stupid... van ran into me. Sent me into the lake. I got..." he stumbled. "I got out and got to shore. I... called you? You didn't decide to... kidnap me, did you?"

Felicity blinked. "What? No... well, I mean... maybe? Well, Oliver thought you'd be safer here, since there's people disappearing from the hospital and you said someone was trying to kill you."

Huh. So there'd been more than one. Veronica must not have been exaggerating.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Someone sent me a text... used Gus' number."

Wait. They must have used Gus' phone. Which meant...

"Gus!" Shawn bolted into a sitting position. The room swam before his eyes, and everything tipped. He gripped the edge of the bed and tried to take a deep breath. "Is he..."

"Oh, Gus, he's fine. I called him when Oliver was bringing you back here. He's in a pretty high-traffic area with Ava, and they both hadn't seen anything suspicious. I might have been a bit cryptic. Your phone"—she held up his phone—"was hacked. A novice hack, but still a hack."

"That explains the weird noises," Shawn said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "But, uh, where am I?" The room was small and dark, with a few bright blue overhanging lights, but the walls were black, making it feel even smaller and darker than it was.

Felicity was quiet for a moment, twisting her fingers in her hair. "Do you think you can stand up?" she asked.

"Think so," Shawn muttered. Felicity took his hand and helped him into a sitting position. Dizziness gripped him, but it cleared within a few seconds.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I… think so."

Leaning on Felicity for support, Shawn slowly hobbled out of the room, wincing as pain shot through his bruised leg.

What he saw next caused his mind to temporarily shudder. Then everything seemed to suddenly click into place and break apart at the same time.

It was a room pretty much like the one he'd just come from, bright blue lights hanging overhead, dark walls. Except so much different. There was a huge desk with three computers and a weird looking chair, as well as a sort of table computer. A small potted fern rested on another table.

Oh yeah. And there was that weird looking bow. And all these sorts of arrows on a rack. And the green leather suit, along with a red one.

He was in the Arrow's lair.

Shawn turned to Felicity. "Wait... you're not... the..."

"Who, me? Oh, oh no. Just a hacker. He's the Arrow."

Shawn turned and saw Oliver, who gave him a small shrug.

"How are you feeling?"

"Confused. Like, reaching levels of..." He searched his mind for an eighties movie reference, then gave it up. His head hurt too much for that. "Wait a second... does this mean I get to be a vigilante now? Dude, this is awesome. We can solve the case together and save this city and all that."

Oliver—Oliver, _the Arrow_ —just blinked.

Before he could say anything else, a man Shawn had never seen before stepped into the room. He was all muscle, broad shouldered and hard faced, black hair cut close to his dark skin.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said. "Oliver here's kind of picky about who he lets on the Arrow team." He motioned to a chair. "Oliver said you might have a concussion."

"So... are you the guy in red people are starting to talk about?" Shawn asked, slumping into the squishy office chair. Felicity handed him an ice pack, which he took gratefully and pressed against the back of his neck.

"No. That's Roy," the man said, his eyes scanning over Shawn's face. "My name is John Diggle. Used to be in the army, Afghanistan. Do you feel dizzy?"

"Little," Shawn said with a shrug. "But how'd you meet up with Oliver?"

"Used to be his bodyguard," Diggle said. "Hardest job I ever had. For some reason he insisted on running off at every opportunity."

And so, in between all the questions on how he was feeling ("I'm _fine_ , you guys") Shawn managed to get a good portion of what the Arrow and his team had been doing over the last two years. In return he shared a little of his adventures as a consulting psychic, but those seemed almost boring in comparison.

"You know you can't share this with anyone," Oliver said, his voice low. "If my secret got out, my enemies would use it to threaten the ones I care about, and I can't have that happening."

"Yeah, I hear that," Shawn said. "But... well, I mean, I can tell Gus right? Cause we're going to be working on this case together. We're a package deal, man."

"I never said we were working together."

"Well, haven't we been doing it before? I mean, I didn't know you were the Arrow and you did almost shoot us but—we worked pretty good together, right?"

That earned him an eye roll. Oliver glanced at Diggle, then Felicity.

"Your call man," Diggle said.

Felicity shrugged. "I wouldn't mind."

There was a long pause then...

"Fine. Call your friend. Tell him to come over."

o

"But you're—"

"Yes."

"And you want us to—"

"Yeah."

"You almost shot us!"

Oliver glanced down. "Well... yeah."

Gus glanced from Oliver to Diggle, then to Felicity. He cleared his throat, swiping his thumb over his nose. "Uh, you heard about Pluto? That's messed up right?"

"Dude, when has that line ever worked?" Shawn asked, rubbing his own throbbing nose. "Ow."

Gus' gaze snapped towards Shawn, his gaze flicking over the pseudo-psychic, eyebrows creased into a frown. "Man… Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes—everyone—I'm _fiiiiiine_."

Gus gave him a look. "Do you have any idea who tried to kill you?"

"No," Shawn said. "At least..." He touched his finger to his temple. "It was a…."

 _Lights exploding in his vision, blocking out everything. Just white. He could see nothing, but he could feel his body, weightless, slamming against the side of the car, screeching tires._

"A… gray… Dodge? Uh… the license plate number was... um..." The image in his mind flickered.

 _Only one thought in his mind: "I don't want to die."_

"The plates were stolen, or forged or whatever," Felicity said. "I hacked into the traffic cams and tried to get a trace on them, but they showed up as belonging to this different car in Central City. I tried to follow them, but the car went into a residential area. This was all carefully planned."

"You did all this while I was out?" Shawn asked.

"I've… had a bit of practice in this sort of thing."

"Wait a second," Gus said. "Did you ever try tracing that call Sam made?"

"First thing we did," Diggle said. "It was near that place she used to live. Phone was smashed and thrown in a dumpster."

"What else do you know?" Shawn asked taking the ice pack away from his neck and rubbing his tingling fingers.

"I'm not going to tell you right now," Oliver said. "Because you need to get back to wherever you're staying and get some rest. We'll regroup this evening."

"I'm going to be so late for work," Felicity muttered.

Shawn groaned, but otherwise didn't protest. "Fine." He heaved himself out of the chair and stumbled over to Gus. At least it was only a short way to Ava's house.

"You're going to want to try and keep a low profile," Oliver said. "That was a pretty serious threat you got, Shawn. And let's face it, you got lucky. Next time you might not get so lucky."

Shawn nodded. Despite the cold shiver that went through him at Oliver's warning, the prospect of actually _working with the Arrow_ put a grin on his face that he couldn't hold back.

He turned to Gus.

"Whaaaat?" they both said.


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: Will probably add a recap here later, but it's almost midngiht and I'm real tired..._

* * *

"Dude!" Shawn spun on his heel so he was walking backwards through the deserted street. He swung his arms up, fingers pointing towards Gus. "We gotta come up with a secret code name for you now that we're working with a real, live superhero."

"I already got one. Tap-Man."

"What, the guy who kicks sand into his enemies' eyes? What about Magic Head?"

"Magic Head was a _sidekick_."

"Well, isn't that what we kind of are?" Shawn asked. He dropped his hands, and pain shot through his shoulder. He must have winced, because he heard Gus say, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Shawn muttered. "Just got a little whip-cracked when... when it happened."

"Don't you mean you got whiplash?" To his credit, Gus' voice came out gentler than it usually did in these situations. "Do you—"

"I've heard it both ways. Anyway, I think I'm going to go with... the Amazing Psychic-Man. Psych-Man for short."

"Better than 'The Hood Guy,' " Gus said with a shrug. "Anyway, do you think you should tell him you're not really a psychic?"

Shawn frowned. "Why would I? He'd probably just throw me off the case."

"Well, he did just share a pretty big secret with you. And I dunno, he's _the Arrow_ , he's probably going to find out anyway."

Shawn gave a snort. "I haven't gotten caught yet."

As they continued walking, the conversation flitted from topic to topic: what they were going to eat, what they should tell Ava, if banana peels were really all that good for you. But Shawn was only half listening. His mind refused to move from the voices he had heard back at the bridge. There were at least two people… maybe more. Who had tried to kill him? It wouldn't make sense for it to be Mark or Jack. Their innocence had just been proven, it would be kind of stupid for them to immediately do something criminal. Then again…

"Hey. You're Shawn and… Gus, right?"

Shawn flinched, a cold shiver shooting through his body at the unfamiliar voice. Then he plastered a grin on his face and turned around. "The one and only psychic consulting detective."

Standing in the middle of the street, hands dug into her pockets, legs spread at shoulder's width, was a young woman. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her black jacket and short-cropped black hair. Her voice was low, almost raspy, but had a smooth, easygoing tone to it.

"The ones that got kicked off the SCPD's case." Her face slid into a grin. "Roy told me all about it. The name's Cin, by the way. You're still poking around on that Sam case though, aren't you?"

Shawn just shrugged, rubbing a hand over his neck and trying to keep the barbs of pain from stabbing too deep. "Sort of."

"Never knew her, but Roy said she was a decent person. So, just thought I'd ask if you needed any help on the case. Us Glades folks gotta look out for each other, you know?"

The pseudo-psychic nodded. "Yeah… uh…" He scrunched his nose. Might as well give it a shot. "Do you know a guy named Jack? Or Mark? Last name Osborne?"

She snorted. "Everyone around here knows Jack."

"Great. Can you tell me if you see anything… weird going on with Jack?"

Cin let out a small snicker. "Sure, I can keep an eye out. Spoiler alert, though. Everything about Jack is weird."

Ava was waiting for them under the dripping eaves of the apartment complex. Her face was creased into a frown as she stared down at her phone, one hand reaching up to brush the frizzy hair from her eyes.

"Hey, Ava!" Shawn called, raising a hand.

Her gaze snapped up. "Where on earth have you two been?"

"Uh… well…" Shawn let out a sigh and sagged against the wall of the building next to Ava, the chatter of people clashing in his ears. "Some person tried to kill me. Again. They hacked my phone and told me to go somewhere and then they ran into your car and, um, may have kind of totaled it."

"They did _what?_ " Ava squeaked. Her voice slapped against his pounding head. She turned to Gus. "You just said you had to go somewhere, y-you didn't say Shawn almost got killed!"

"I didn't know!"

"Sorry about your car," Shawn said, closing his eyes as the sidewalk rocked beneath him. "You know what's weird though? I've been having a really weird day. Like, my life is literally one of those strawberries that has to get murdered in order to make strawberry ice cream. Like, have you ever thought about what that strawberry might feel as it's crushed into a juicy pulp, as the life is smashed from its helpless body?"

"They said he might have a mild concussion," he heard Gus say.

"No kidding," Ava said.

o

Shawn gave a groan and shoved his face deeper into the pillow. It felt like he had been sleeping for a thousand years, only to now be awakened by a kiss from a beautiful maiden.

The pain in his head had subsided, though he was quickly reminded of his whiplash when he tried to raise his head. The blinking green letters of the clock were smudged, and it took a minute to blink the sleep from his bleary eyes. Past four.

After a few more minutes of enjoying the soft bed beneath his aching body, Shawn dragged himself up and stumbled into the kitchen. Ava was sitting at the small table, typing on her laptop. She looked up, but didn't say anything when he walked in. Shawn slid into the chair across from her. The setting sun stabbed into his eyes and he slapped a hand over them, letting out a groan.

"Now I know why people don't like getting hangovers," Shawn said, cupping his hand around the side of his face to block out the sunlight.

Ava just nodded, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Gus told me you found a new lead."

"Yeah. Bit of a game changer. Speaking of Gus, where is he?"

"Out meeting up with Felicity."

"Without me? Man," Shawn muttered.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, then Shawn spoke up. "Um... I'm sorry about what happened to your car. Heh, I bet Gus will never let me drive the Blueberry again."

She glanced up, a shadow of a smile passing across her face. "To be honest, I was planning on pushing it off a bridge any day now. As long as _you_ take care of getting it to the dump or whatever, I'm just glad you're alright."

"Yeah, well, not like I haven't done that before. Well, I mean… it was really only one time—"

Ava's gaze dropped back to the screen. "Shawn... You can't stay here any longer."

Shawn frowned, reaching up a hand to rub at the sore spot on his temple. "What? Ava—"

"Please don't make this any harder than it is. I already feel guilty that I dragged you both into this. I just... I don't want any part of this." She knocked back her chair and slammed the laptop shut, turning away from him.

"Ava, c'mon, don't be like this," Shawn said, getting up and stepping towards her.

"If—If you two want to go get yourselves killed, fine. But you are not taking me down with you."

She gave a short huff of breath and wrapped her arms around herself, still turned away. Shutting him out. Closing in on herself.

 _"I haven't seen or talked to her in over five years..."_ Gus had said. " _She wanted to be left alone."_

"What happened?" Shawn asked softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Those five years, what happened?"

"You're the psychic. You tell me."

"I'd rather you told me yourself."

"I can't."

Shawn sighed. "Don't shut yourself out, Ava. Gus... he really wants to get to know you. You should have seen how excited he was when you first called him. I mean, we were in the middle of taking down a criminal, and he still decided to pick up.

"But... if not for Gus, do it for yourself. Trust me, Ava, life's better with friends. Even if said friend has the worst pick-up line in the history of—"

"Shawn. Please. Just get out."

o

 _Just don't burn the place down._

 _-Oliver_

Shawn smirked at the text before dropping his bags down on the floor with a thud. The soft hum of computers felt soothing to his ears and the dim lighting was a nice change from the harsh sunlight.

Staying in the Arrow Cave.

It almost made getting kicked out of Ava's worth it.

Well... not really. But still. How many other people could say they'd stayed in a superhero's lairs?

Shawn plopped down in Felicity's chair and pulled out his phone, a smirk sliding over his face as his eyes flicked over the new apps Felicity had put on.

 _"Just to keep you from getting hacked,"_ she had said. _"Not to break into the Pentagon."_

Still, he had convinced her to put at least one code breaking application on there.

Just then Gus walked in, a sour expression on his face.

"Why are we getting thrown out of literally everything?" he muttered.

Shawn shrugged. "Because at least half the universe is scheming against us. What'd Felicity say?"

"She said that they've exhausted all their leads on Sam, and I agreed. Then I remembered all the things your dad would always say about looking at it from a different angle, going back to the beginning and all that. So, I suggested we try and figure out who hacked your phone and sent you that message."

"Right," Shawn said. "About that: I've been thinking, and the weird thing is, from what I heard, it sounds like they were trying to kidnap me, not kill me. After I got out of the water, I think I heard one of the guys say something like 'We weren't supposed to kill him.' "

"I don't get it," Gus said. "What would they get out of kidnapping you?"

"My award-winning personality," Shawn replied, but felt a small shiver of cold run through his body. _What did they want with me?_ "Which was the last text you sent again?"

"Uh…" Gus pulled out his phone. "It was: 'That's what you said last time.'"

"Then they slipped up about the dog, trying to convince me that those two cases weren't connected, then…" He stopped. _Take Ava's car,_ the text had said. How did they even know Ava had a car? Not too many people in Starling City owned one, and he himself had never even seen Ava drive it. Maybe they had happened to just see her... but still.

"Then what?" Gus asked.

"Nothing."

Nothing was clear right now.

"Well," Gus continued, "Felicity traced back to where the hack originated. It came from the hospital. Starling General."

"That's weird."

"What's even weirder is that two elderly patients have disappeared from the hospital. At least, that's what the rumors say. What's more is Oliver and Roy have been finding a lot of dead animals, even though there's basically no strays in Starling City. Oliver was actually going to try and get a blood sample off that dog Ava saw to see if they could determine if there was some disease going around in the animals, back when were first ran into him. They're not sure if either of those things are connected to Sam, though."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Now," Shawn said, scrubbing a sleeve under his runny nose, "let's grab some food and go check out the hospital. That's where the hack came from, right?"

"Dude, you almost got killed today. Don't you think you should be taking it easy?"

"Gus. I am a psychic detective on a very important case that might just change the entire world as we know it. I don't have time to take it easy!"

He jumped to his feet just as Roy came stumbling down the stairs into the Arrow Cave.

Shawn lifted his hand in greeting. "Arsenal, my man!"

"You know you can just call me Roy," Roy said, raising an eyebrow, but a smirk twitched at the edge of his lips.

"Well then, c'mon, Roy, Arsenal, whatever you are," Shawn said, jumping up and linking his arm through Roy's, then began walking so that he was almost dragging the young man backwards towards the stairs.

Roy gave Shawn a sideways glance, his features sliding into confusion. "Uh, what? Where are you taking me?"

"We," Shawn announced, sweeping out his free hand, "are going on an adventure!"

"Um-" Roy didn't finish his sentence, just glanced helplessly at Gus.

"Just roll with it," Gus said.

o

"Can someone tell me why I'm going to the hospital to visit my Aunt Jemima?" Roy asked as they rounded another corner. "I mean, I don't even have any aunts."

"It's our cover story," Shawn said, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to suppress the shiver.

"How'd you even know there was someone with that name here?"

Shawn just tapped his temple, then covered his mouth as a cough escaped. He reached up and pulled off the face mask the receptionist had forced him to take, stuffing it in his pocket.

"Dude, you should really keep that on," Gus said.

Shawn just made a face. "I feel like I'm in some sort of anime, plus my face is all sweaty and urgh."

Just then he caught the sound of heels clicking down the hallway. He turned and saw a doctor all but running down the hallway, several manila folders clutched in her arms, when she tripped. Papers went flying everywhere. Shawn ran over and crouched down to help her pick up her papers when he caught a glimpse of her badge.

Veronica Hayden.

"It's you," Shawn said, without thinking.

The woman jerked her head up, one eyebrow shooting up. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh," Shawn smacked his forehead, then immediately regretted the action. "Ow, um, sorry. Sometimes get the 'spirit realm' and this realm mixed up. You'd think being a psychic _detective_ would help me keep things straight."

"You're—you're a psychic?" Veronica stood up so fast several papers flew off the stack. Like the superhero that he was, Roy was there to catch them. "That's why you're here, right? You must have heard that poor man's restless soul crying out."

"The man... who went missing? Owen?" Shawn asked.

Veronica nodded vigorously, taking the files Roy held out. Shawn caught a glimpse of a few. They were all labeled with long complicated names, most ending with the word "disease."

"Yes, that's the one. It turns out he had died and they never told me!" She let out a sigh. "He had wanted to be buried, but they had to cremate him since he had... well he had 'Hayden's disease.' " Her cheeks reddened, and her voice dropped to a mutter. "I still can't believe they named it after me."

"Hayden's disease? What's that?" Gus asked.

"Oh, it's this new disease that's popped up in Starling City. Mostly it's just affected the very young and very old. It's—" she stopped. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be taking up your time like this. I really should—"

Shawn's mind flashed to the TV report he had seen his first morning in Starling City, the one about an incline in severe colds.

"I'm sensing it's some sort of severe cold or flu," he said.

That was all it took to get her started again. "Yes, that pretty much sums it up. Except it's much more tricky that a severe cold. The patients we've seen, yes, they've all had the usual coughing, watery eyes, and nasal discharge, but other than that, it's a toss-up what other symptoms they have. It seems to be different with each patient. Some have a rash, most have difficulty keeping food down, some get bloodshot eyes, and we don't know if that's being caused by other factors or the disease itself." She paused to rub the bridge of her nose.

"One strange thing is that the patients appear to be having an increase in nightmares. That and the fact that it's not responding to any of the usual cold medications. I mean, not responding to antibiotics is one thing, but not responding to antihistamine, guaifenesin _or_ oxymetazoline? The only thing that has helped is dextromethorphan, but all that's been able to do is ease the symptoms, not stop them. We need something more, but we can't simply give them higher doses, as too much can cause hallucinogenic trips." She gave an undignified snort and crossed her arms. "The last thing we need is our patients acting like drug addicts." Then her face fell as Shawn saw the realization of all she'd just said sink in. "Don't tell anyone about what I just said. We really don't want this spread throughout the public."

Roy handed her another piece of paper. "Why are you keeping this a secret?" he asked, frowning. "These people need to know so that they can protect themselves."

"Yes, and have the media blow it up into a full on pandemic, when it's only affected four people in all of Starling," Veronica said. "The city has gone through two terrorist attacks in two years. The last thing we want is more panic. Besides, it doesn't spread very easily." Her gaze dropped to her files, and she suddenly began flipping through them as if they were the most interesting things in the world. "If it gets worse, we will let the public know more. But for now, it's not my decision to make. The only thing I'm in charge of is stopping more people from getting this."

"Someone close to you had this disease," Roy said. Shawn, who had been about to say the same thing, cleared his throat instead.

Veronica's grip on the papers tightened. "I'd do anything to keep more people from getting this disease. No parent should be forced to outlive their child."

* * *

 _A_ _/N: Just five more chapters left! I'm really hoping to get this done before the end of the school year so I can finally move onto some other projects (I can barely believe I've almost been working on this for 2 years) but considering how slow I've been, I dunno... XD_

 _Until next time, review!_


	12. Chapter 11

"No. I'm really not getting the feeling that it's her. Why would she keep wailing like a banshee about a crime she committed? It makes no sense." Shawn snuck a glance into another one of the doctors' offices. Occupied.

"Unless she felt cheated. Unless he, like, disappeared before she could kidnap him and she wanted to know what happened," Roy said with a shrug.

"Maybe... maybe she tried to kidnap him before, or told him some important information, and she wanted to make sure he hadn't told anyone," Gus said, the clacking of his shoes growing quicker.

Shawn groaned. "Dude, you're supposed to back me up on this! Besides, why would she go through the process of kidnapping when she could just kill him and chalk it up to the disease or a medical accident?"

"I dunno," Gus said. "Something about her just seems… off."

Shawn just huffed, turning down into a dimly lit corridor and glanced into the next office. Finally, an empty one.

Score.

Without wasting another second, Shawn slipped into the office. He was about to plonk down into the spinny chair before the computer, but Roy beat him to it with a sly grin. Shawn gave a small huff before plopping down in one of the hard plastic chairs.

"Now these computers are all, like, connected or something?" Shawn asked.

"Yeah, Felicity said something about being on the same network. Never really understood all her technobabble," Roy muttered. "Or normal babble, for that matter."

"And what'd she say the account's name was?" Shawn asked.

"Whistler."

Shawn froze.

 _Report findings to the Whistler._

"I knew it!" he said, pumping a fist into the air. "I knew Mark was in on this!"

Roy just blinked. "Huh?"

"Mark is the one who wrote that code that was found in Sam's hand," Shawn said. "It was a list and one of the things was 'Report findings to—'"

"Oh yeah, Whistler. I remember," Roy said. "Huh. I always thought Sam said 'they' because she didn't know who took her. It's because more than _one_ person took her. A doctor, most likely, Mark and… who knows who else."

"And it explains why Mark had such a solid alibi," Shawn said.

"So, then who's the Whistler?" Gus asked, his gaze flicking between the computer and the door.

"That's why we're here, Gus," Shawn said, slouching down in the hard plastic chair and closing his eyes. "And the password is..." He paused for dramatic effect. Then paused for a few seconds more. He jerked back up. "Um... hey. Why isn't Felicity doing this?"

"She said she's reached her limit of suspicious activity at work for the week," Gus said. "But she was able to get the password easy enough."

He handed Roy his phone and seconds later, the screen burst to life. It was a plain desktop, with only a few pictures and a text box. Roy clicked on the first picture. It was Sam, head down as she stared at her phone, blue hair covering her face as she walked down the street. The others were similar, showing her talking to Jack, a low angle shot of the window of her apartment... must have been taken from the street. They were all dated, taken from mid September to November 4, the day before Sam was kidnapped.

"This is weird," Roy said.

"I'd say it might even be creepy," Gus breathed. "Really creepy."

Roy shook his head. "No, I mean, usually this involves us interrogating someone at night, cutting all the power and maybe breaking a window or two."

"Wow. You guys must provide a lot of work for the window p…" Shawn cut himself off, slouching back down and wrinkling his nose. "Glass makers? Glassblower window makers?"

"Shawn."

"Whatever. At least you're making sure they don't go bankrupt."

Roy just rolled his eyes clicked on the textbox. "Hey, come look at this," he said.

"What?" Shawn asked, getting up to peer over his shoulder. The light from the screen whacked his eyes, prompting a throb of pain in his head. He blinked, then began reading:

 _The birds chirp from their trees. The trees sway in the forrest, letting the shadows begin their complicated dance across the mossy ground. The wind directs their path, calling out orders like a crochety old instructor..._

The whole paragraph was written in much the same style. Shawn had to admit, whoever wrote this, they had finesse.

"Another puzzle?" Gus let out a groan. "C'mon!"

Shawn squinted at the screen, ignoring the prickle of pain in his head as he read it again. The words blurred for a split second, then cleared, one in particular jumping out to just about scream in his ears.

He straightened back up, touching his finger to his hairline, closing his eyes. "I'm getting something... someone... someone shouting. Someone's shouting at me... I can't exactly make out what they're saying." He pawed the floor with his foot, then bit back a wince. Wrong leg. Man, was there any part of him that wasn't hurt right now?

"They're... no, it's a she-she's telling me to run!"

He opened his eyes and glanced up. Roy was staring at him blankly. "Is someone outside the door?" Roy asked.

Shawn gave a loud snort, his eyes widening. "Man, you've never seen that movie? Everyone's seen _Forrest Gump_!"

"I grew up in the Glades."

Shawn jabbed his finger at the screen. "There's a misspelled word here. Forrest."

"Run, Forrest, run," Gus muttered. He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying Tom Hanks is the killer?"

"Could be."

"Forrest," Roy repeated. He swept his eyes over the paragraph, then clicked out of the text box and logged out of the account. By that time Shawn had the small paragraph tucked into his memory, just like his dad had taught him. "Forrest… Oh yeah. There used to be some serial killer a couple years back. Named Forrest. Totally insane."

"Aren't all serial killers insane?" Gus asked.

"Well, this guy was like... the definition of insanity or whatever. He lost his wife in a fire. Must have lost his mind, too, because a few months later he started kidnapping young women. He'd stick them in a building, then start a fire remotely by one of these weird fire-starter things he had, kinda like explosives, but without the huge explosion."

He closed the door to the small room behind him. The click of the latch was the only sound in the deserted hallway. The late afternoon sun painted golden light over his body as he stood there, shuffling from one foot to the other.

"Then he'd go and try and rescue them. But he never could. He died in an office complex when one of his 'explosives' went off before he got out."

"And you're thinking..."

"That we'll find some clues in there? Yeah." Roy slumped against the wall and dug his phone out of his pocket. "We should tell Oliver first, though."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Aw, c'mon, where's the fun in that? He'll just shoot us down."

"Maybe literally," Gus added.

Roy paused, sighed, then put the phone back in his pocket. "I guess you're right. I'll show you the way there."

"Great," Shawn said. "But first-do you know any good smoothie places?"

"Hey," Shawn said, stepping over the doorframe, which had once been filled with glass. "Kinda reminds me of Central Coast Pharmaceuticals, if you ask me."

"Not funny, Shawn."

Shawn just grinned and glanced around the entryway. The once-shining floor was now cracked, weeds filling up the small clefts. It was probably the first bit of green Shawn had seen since entering Starling. Piles of ashes swept across the ground, speckling it with gray, and the walls looked like they had been splashed with a bucket of black paint. He twitched his nose, and through the snot that insisted on clogging it up, he thought he could catch the faint smell of smoke.

"Didn't anyone ever think to clean this place up?" Gus asked, rubbing his hand up and down his arm, his eyes twitching to take in the room.

"Yeah... but then the whole Mir—that... _incident_ happened, and it kind of slipped everyone's minds," Roy said.

Shawn turned down a semi-carpeted corridor. Every room he looked into was the same—charred desk, melted plastic or vinyl chairs and broken windows that looked out to looming buildings that blocked out the sky.

"They did get the dead bodies out, right?" he heard Gus ask.

"Yeah," Roy said. "At least, I think so."

Shawn turned a corner, only to be greeted by a set of large, smoke-streaked double doors, the hinges that held them in rusted straight through. At his shove, they collapsed, sending up a mini mushroom cloud of dust.

The coughing fit that followed left him gasping. He gritted his teeth as white-hot pain streamed down his neck. For the briefest of moments, he actually wondered if he should have just stayed in the Arrow Cave.

Nah. This was more fun... right? Catching a killer right in the act... or at the very least, finding his or her lairs.

Shawn straightened, then took a step back as the smell of animal crashed over him, spiced with the sickly-sweet smell of jasmine.

The room itself was a disaster. Claw marks scraped against the ground, and various types of animal poop was squished into the carpet. Several cages and carriers were turned onto their sides, the metal bars bent and twisted, with the ends darkened with dried blood.

But no animals.

"Hey Roy," Shawn said, his eyes sweeping over the room. "I think I know why you're finding dead animals everywhere."

Roy stepped in, then took a step back. "Man..." he whispered. "But—why? Why'd they just leave everything behind?" He stepped over to a wooden table and picked up an empty syringe. "Maybe we can get some prints off these."

Shawn smirked. "Don't complain, Arsenal. We got our first real evidence that something's up."

Gus stepped around the room, his face twisted in disgust. "Maybe they left because it's kind of risky to be in a place that could fall apart at any moment." He took another step forward, his foot knocking against some small object.

Fire erupted from the object, quickly lighting what was left of the carpet.

Gus squealed, Shawn screamed, and even Roy let out a yell, dropping the syringe he had been holding.

Roy was the first to recover. He bolted out of the room, and Shawn bolted after him. With great ease the young man leaped out one of the broken windows and do a fantastic barrel roll before landing with a thump on the pavement. Shawn followed, deciding to skip the barrel roll. The impact sent a jarring sensation shooting all the way up his spine. Seconds later, Gus joined them, coughing almost as bad as Shawn.

"C'mon- _koff_ -man!" Shawn yelled, turning to face the building that was burning for a second time. "Our evidence!"

Roy dug his hands into his pockets. "Alright, who wants to call the fire department?" he muttered.

o

"What were you thinking?" was the first thing that Shawn heard as he trudged down into the Arrow Cave along with Gus and Roy. Every bone, every muscle in his body throbbed to the tune of "Staying Alive."

Oliver was standing under the harsh blue lights, feet slightly apart, arms crossed.

"It's not like you've never done that before," Roy mumbled. Shawn had to give him credit for not throwing him under the bus by saying it was Shawn's idea in the first place.

"Yes, but now I know better," Oliver said through gritted teeth. "And I thought you all knew better, too. Always check to see what you're getting into!"

Shawn gave a snort, digging his thumb into his temple. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

"Please tell me you at least got some evidence," Felicity said from behind her hand.

"We got some from Doctor Hayden," Gus said. "Can you... do that hacking thing and look at the autopsy for Sam?"

"Sure," Felicity said. A few clicks later the notes and pictures of the autopsy were pulled up across the three screens. Roy lowered his gaze.

"Rash, mucus in her nose and throat," Shawn said, a yawn itching in the back of his throat. "Unofficially diagnosed with… Hayden's disease. Like the people who disappeared from the hospital. It can't... can't be a coincidence. Someone must... like... be..."

"Be trying to kill everyone who had the disease. The animals, too," Oliver said. "What else did you find out?"

Roy took over at this point. When he finished, Shawn let out his yawn that somehow turned into a hacking cough. Out of all the things he'd done, that was one of the weirder ones.

Felicity snapped her head to the side to look at him.

"Shawn... you've had that cough for about a week now?" she asked. "I... what if you..."

She let the question hang, but Shawn was sure they were all completing it silently.

"I'd like to take a blood sample tomorrow, if you don't mind, maybe send it to Star Labs to be analyzed," Felicity said, her words slowed to a fraction of the speed they normally came out.

"Wait." Gus straightened. "Star Labs? As in Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories? The place where they made the cure for the Mirakuru soldiers?"

Shawn groaned and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "You could have at least said: Star Labs? As in Central City? Where the Flash and all those... crazy superpower people live?" He dropped his hand from his face. "Hey... you wouldn't happen to know the Flash, would you?"

Roy just grinned, while Felicity twirled a pen in her fingers. "Well..."

Shawn almost heard the clatter as his jaw dropped to the floor. "No way!" he said. "Dude, can we, like, meet him some time?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind, he loves people," Oliver muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I'll pass on the information you found to Detect—Captain Lance," Felicity said.

"Won't he want all that... fourth amendment stuff?" Shawn said with a groan.

"Think of it as an anonymous tip," Felicity replied. "Except not... really anonymous."

"Great. What's next?" Shawn said, slumping down in a chair to rest his chin on his hands.

"Well," Felicity said, "most people would probably sleep."

"She's right," Oliver said. "Your body needs the rest. You really should have been laying low today. Don't want to scream to whoever's trying to kill you that you're not giving up."

"Hey," Shawn offered a lopsided smile. "I'll be alright. I've got the Arrow on my side."

Oliver just gave him a look.

With an enormous effort, Shawn heaved himself up and staggered off towards the back of the Arrow Cave where their makeshift beds lay.

"I'll be waking you up every couple of hours," Felicity said. "Just so… y'know, you don't fall into a coma or anything."

Shawn nodded, then turned the corner and flopped down on the soft mattress. Pain shot through his shoulders.

"Ughhh, Guuuuuus..." he moaned, burying his face into the pillow.

"What, Shawn?"

"Will you groom me?"

There was silence for a moment, then "Shawn, you're not making any sense."

"Yes I am," Shawn said. "It's... it's like the wild horses. They're friends and they groom each other. M' dad made me watch Nature with him when I was a kid. Then he had to explain what the stallions were doing... it was weird..."

Gus let out a sigh and a second later Shawn felt the mattress sink down. Then came the soothing touch of his friend's hands on his shoulders, helping to loosen the sore muscles.

"Has that blin' lady been teachin' you?" Shawn muttered, his face still pressed into the pillow.

"No, but I thought I might as well learn a bit about massage to help get rid of little Shawn."

"That's still creepy, you know."

Gus gave a "tsk." Shawn turned his head to see him rub at his own shoulder. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Shawn said, quirking his lips into a half-grin. "The longest."


	13. Chapter 12

_A/N: Aaaand I've totally run out of things to say in these author's notes. Well, enjoy this early update! Next chapter should be up in a week or two._

* * *

 _"Shawn...?"_

 _"What up, Lissie?"_

 _"Huh?"_

 _"Lissie... Felicity?"_

 _"Uh… oh. Um... I got the results of the blood test."_

 _"That was fast. Well, considering they have the Flash on their side-"_

" _Shawn… you have Hayden's disease."_

 _Quiet._

 _"I mean... they haven't been able to gather much information, since the only cases have been in Starling City so far but based on what they have, there's over a ninety-five percent chance you have it instead of just a normal cold which explains why none of us have got it and they—Star Labs, that is—have been working on and off on developing a cure, but like I said, they don't really have a good idea of what they're working with and no one trusts Star Labs after the explosion and—"_

 _"Psh, Felicity, I'm a psychic, and a master at poker. Which means I can bet on that five percent chance that..."_

 _"But Shawn. What if that person tried to kill you, not to get you off the case, but because you had Hayden's disease?"_

 _"Could be that they just didn't like my hair."_

 _"What I'm wondering is: who would even know you_ had _the disease? Who would be able to figure it out?"_

 _Who would be able to figure it out?_

 _Who would be able to figure it—_

Shawn jerked his face off the cold glass.

They weren't moving. Everything around him was still. The water was seeping in around him, wrapping its cold hands over his mouth...

"Shawn... are you okay?" Gus asked.

Shawn blinked bleary eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly to clear the cobwebs. "Yeah, fine."

 _Just some possible PTSD... urg..._

He blinked again, trying to get back on terms with reality. It felt like the inside of his head was wrapped in wool, making everything blurred and sluggish.

 _C'mon, focus._

He was inside the Blueberry. Parked on the side of the road, cars whizzing past them on one side, people streaming by on the other. Their chatter filtered through the window to fill his ears. Shafts of sunlight fell through the dull gray clouds to splash light on the pavement.

They'd gotten up at a decent time that morning to find Oliver sparring with Roy, using a pair of short sticks. They moved so fast they were almost a blur. When Shawn had blurted out how he'd like to try, Oliver had tossed him the two sticks, much to Shawn's surprise. After Oliver had shown him a few simple moves, Shawn very formally asked if they might go check out Starling's animal shelter, complete with a low bow that almost made him fall over when he started coughing halfway through. Oliver just raised his eyebrows.

They were just heading out when Felicity had pulled him aside.

Shawn leaned his dully aching head against the headrest and let out a sigh. "Hey man, why are we stopped?"

"Just... uh... needed to check something," Gus said, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone.

"We're lost, aren't we?"

"Well it's not my fault that woman's instructions were so vague!" Gus said. "Why couldn't she just give us the address? They've gotta have the records of the owners… the adopters?"

"Just ask Felicity."

Gus wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, his face growing hard. "I'm not about to accept defeat yet. We are going to find out where this Doctor Abner Foster lives, and we are going to find out about this dog."

"Sure," Shawn said.

Five minutes later Gus pulled over again. He put the phone to his ear.

"Felicity?" Shawn asked.

Gus just gave him a magnificent stinkeye.

Shawn glanced out of the window to see a small food truck parked just across the street from them. His stomach growled. He knew he'd be pushing it, with his stomach being on high alert from this Hay... from this cold, but something inside him screamed that he had gone much too long without some good old greasy food truck food.

He elbowed Gus and pointed to the truck. Slowly, Gus' stinkeye transformed into a grin. After he hung up with Felicity, they bolted out of the car together, and minutes later they were standing on the pavement, hands full of jerk chicken.

"Hey you two. What's up?"

Shawn turned to see Cin staring at him, an easy grin on her face.

"Oh, hey Cin," Shawn said. Gus nodded a greeting, his mouth already full of chicken. Then Shawn blinked. Cin was here. That must mean she'd seen something. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Did you find anything?"

"Yup." She dug her hand into her leather jacket and pulled out a slip of paper. "I saw Mark just an hour or two ago. He was muttering to himself about... I dunno... sounded like 'Anna' or something and wrote something down on this paper. Then he set it down and pulled out another piece of paper and wrote something on that. Then he left. Left the paper behind; must have forgotten about it." She handed it to him.

Another freemason's code.

Gus was already reaching for his phone. "I'll call Felicity again."

"Wait." Shawn whipped out his own phone. He opened up the simple code-breaking application Felicity had installed and took a picture of the paper. Moments later, the symbols transformed into three short sentences.

 _four pm. xanther park. don't forget._

"Huh. Xanther Park..." Cin said, crossing her arms. "I remember that place. Used to play in it when I was a kid."

"Guess Abner and the dog will have to wait a bit," Shawn rasped, glancing down at his watch. About 3:30. "Thanks for the help, Cin."

"No problem," Cin said. She started to turn, then jerked back around. "Oh, and I almost forgot: Jack's been meeting up with someone. I followed him one night and he went to the back of Starling General. He met up with this woman, but it was too dark to make her out. She was wearing a nametag, though; I could see the light reflecting off it. I couldn't make out all they were saying, but I'm pretty sure they were talking about drugs."

Shawn nodded, forcing his slow mind into action. Jack, it would make sense for him to be supplying whomever was doing this with drugs, so they could go all OD with the homeless people and kill them. No one would think it to be out of the ordinary.

"Really," Gus said. "Thanks. You've been a huge help."

Cin just grinned. "Roy told me what you're trying to do. Though I'm not exactly a vigilante like him, I'm still willing help out when I can. So good luck. You'll probably need it."

o

Xanther Park was small, consisting of a few sparse trees and an old, tired playground at its center. The pavement that enclosed it was cracked and weedy. And, somehow, there was even one of those old spinny "merry-go-round" things that he'd almost killed himself on as a kid.

Shawn took a step forward, sniffling through his stuffy nose the smell of old trees and spilled pop, crusty bits of food left over from screaming children. He traced his fingers over one of the rusted metal bars on merry-go-round and smiled, giving it a small push.

The sound of faint grumbling flew into Shawn's ears and he dove into a flat position, raising his head just above the merry-go-round's metal platform to see who it was. Striding across the other end of the park was Mark. The man's gaze was firmly fixed on the ground, his steps quick as he walked towards the set of bathrooms. He took a glance around, then disappeared through the door marked "Women's."

Wait... Mark... what was he doing?

Shawn's eyes drifted back across the park. Then his muscles stiffened.

Ava. She was just about running across the park. A second later, she slipped into the bathroom.

It took him all of five steps to get back to the Blueberry where Gus was shoving change into a parking meter.

"Gus," he said. "I think... um... you might want to see this."

It took all of five seconds before they were both in the men's bathroom, crouching down near the vent. Shawn covered his mouth, trying hard not to breathe in too deep.

Gus clenched his hands into fists, raising one to press against his mouth. "I don't understand… what's going on?" he whispered, his voice little more than a breath of air.

"Did you hear that? It sounded like a door closing."

Mark's voice.

"Just tell me what you want to say so we can get this over with," Ava said.

There was a long sigh. "Listen, Ava, I know it's been rough... we left on a bad note..."

"That's putting it lightly."

"I just want to say-about last night-I-"

"You were drunk. I noticed. And then, of course, you had to come and-"

"Dammit, Ava! Just shut up and listen to me for once in your life!" Mark said. "I—I never meant to get you mixed up in all this, okay? I—I just—"

"I'm surprised you still care," Ava said. "I was pretty sure you'd forgotten all about me when you decided to start following after Veronica like a homeless puppy. That's why you called me here, didn't you? This is all because of your stupid crush on her."

"Well..."

"You know, I'm feeling a bit indecisive. Maybe I should tell everyone anyway," Ava said, her words dripping.

"Ava... she _knows_. She knows what you did. And if you tell... she'll let everyone know what happened. _Everyone_. And—and I don't want you to have to—"

" _You told her?_ "

Silence.

Then Ava made a sound like snarl. "Fine. I won't tell anyone about your stupid secret. But I don't want to see you again. Ever. Stay the hell away from me."

The door slammed behind her.

After a second, Mark gave another muttered curse and then an "Ava, please I—" The door swung shut with a thud.

For a long moment, neither Shawn nor Gus spoke. Shawn slumped down to sit against the cold wall, a chill seeping into his body. His eyes remained fixed on a rude message graffitied across the wall. His eyes watered from the stench of old piss and long-clogged toilets. He raised a hand to wipe under his nose, the sniffling sound the only noise in the room.

"Ava and Mark..." Gus whispered. "Ava... and Mark?"

Shawn just shook his head. "So they used to know each other and met up in a bar and Mark spilled some dirt or something on Veronica."

"Yeah... but... what was he blackmailing her with?"

o

"Hello, Doctor Foster. I am Mr. Shergar and this my brother, Dunn Brother. Two n's, if you please. We'd just like to check in on how you are your dog are doing."

Doctor Foster—Abner—opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His eyebrows drew together in a troubled sort of way.

"I... well, how can I put this? Scout—that's what I decided to name him—he loved to explore. He was curious." Abner paused to rub his fingers over an old burn scar, one that cut down his cheek towards his ear. "One day... I let him outside to do his business. I went back into the house to check on something, and... must have left the gate unlatched or something because when I came back out..." He let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the bright white door. "Scout was gone. I haven't seen him since. He… was a good dog. I feel terrible."

Shawn flicked his eyes to the left and saw Gus already making that choked up face. Shawn just inwardly groaned. Another dead end. Although... he craned his head, peering over Abner's shoulder into the house. Various chemicals surrounded by beakers and glass jars were set on the kitchen table along with several pieces of paper.

"Do you know anything about Hayden's disease?" Shawn asked.

The old man started a little. "How do you know about that?"

Shawn touched his finger to his temple. "I'm a man of many talents. In addition to my skills as a volunteer for Starling's finest shelter, I am a psychic who occasionally plays the piccolo."

The corners of Abner's eyes crinkled up as his face widened in a smile. "Well, I suppose there's not many at the hospital who don't know about it. I'm a—"

"Medical scientist, right?" Shawn finished for him. "I suppose you're helping work on a cure for the disease?"

"I've been doing a bit of research on it. Heh, though I don't suppose I'd be making any progress if it wasn't for Doctor Delilah Sarin. That woman, I don't know how she gets that work done so fast."

"What about Doctor Hayden?" Gus asked. "Have you gotten any help from her?"

Abner's face darkened into a frown. "No. And I'm not looking for it either. Doctor Hayden's been known to use some rather"—He paused, scratched at the gray stubble of his chin, adjusted his glasses—" _controversial_ methods in the past. I'd really rather not get tangled up in all that."

o

The sky was dark now, but the streets were still wide awake, still full of people heading off to parties and nightclubs and bars. High heels clicked on the sidewalk, taxi horns blared.

Gradually, though, it all grew quiet. The street lights thinned out until there were stretches with nothing but blackness, an abyss between the islands of light.

It was then that Gus spoke. "The dog might have caught the disease from Doctor Foster. Since he was working on the disease and all."

"Yeah, but Felicity said it's really, really hard to get. You basically have to have a blood transfusion from someone who's infected to get it." Shawn stopped. "Dude, that's how I got it. When I cut my hand. Weird."

"I told you it was a bad idea," Gus grumbled.

"Now, where's Oliver?" Shawn said, then took a step away from the building, glancing up.

There he was.

The Arrow. Standing straight as... well, an arrow on the building's flat roof, silhouetted in the lights of the city.

"You made it," he said, his voice cool and calm, like always. Well, mostly always.

"Ooh, oh, oh man," Shawn burst out, as an idea suddenly popped into his head. "Can—hey, can we use one of those grappling hook arrow thingies to get up?"

"Not unless you want to spend a few hours slapping a bowl of water," Oliver replied. He was already halfway down the fire escape. Shawn groaned, then sniffed, a disgusting sound he wished he could stop making.

He perked up a little when Oliver kicked down the ladder to the fire escape and motioned for them to come up.

A minute later the three of them were standing on the roof, the cold night air whipping around their bodies, the city spread out like a grid beneath them.

"So, been meaning to ask, how does that work... exactly?" Shawn asked, gesturing at the bow.

Oliver shrugged, turning it over in his hands. "Felicity helped design it. It's a collapsible compound carbon fiber bow. Sturdy enough for use in hand-to-hand combat."

Shawn gave a small snort, imagining Oliver whacking people over the head with his bow.

"It works better than you'd think," Oliver said, almost as if he could see Shawn's thoughts. His steely eyes softened for a second as his mouth pulled into a small smile.

"Why'd you say we'd have to slap a bowl of water?" Gus asked. "Was that just—"

"Just something I learned on the island," Oliver replied, and the stiff, vigilant posture was back. He glanced back down, his grip tightening on the bow. "What'd you come to tell me?"

Shawn touched his hairline, his voice growing deeper, more dramatic. "I had a vision. About Jack. I see—I saw him meeting up with a woman. She's got a name tag, looks official. Must be some sort of doctor. I can't make out her face. It seems… as though she's getting drugs for Jack to kill the homeless people with Hayden's disease."

Oliver didn't turn from his position, his gaze still sweeping over the city. "That's funny," he said. "Because I heard Cin told you guys that."


	14. Chapter 13

For a full moment Shawn said nothing. Oliver watched as his glassy, feverish eyes blinked, watched him open his mouth, then shut it.

Of all the things to lie about, why lie about being a _psychic_?

"Okay, okay, so..."

 _Let him say it._

"Are you," Oliver said, "psychic or not?"

"Well... I..." Shawn let the sentence hang. "I... you have to admit, it's not that different than-"

Oliver's hand grip tightened around his bow, feeling the edge press into his gloved hand. "No," he said, his voice low. "It's not."

It was absurd. He wore this hood to protect the ones he loved. He kept his secret even when it drove everyone he cared about away.

Shawn... he was doing this solely to protect himself. To frolic around and expect everyone to take him seriously because he was a psychic.

"But, I mean," Shawn said, throwing out his hands, "I mean, I'm still kind of saving lives. Like, I can't be a psychic detective if they don't think I'm a psychic."

Oliver gritted his teeth. "If you wanted to save lives, you'd become a detective. A regular one. This is just about having fun _,_ isn't it?"

Shawn's shoulders slumped, looking every bit the kicked puppy, complete with a runny nose and dark smudges under his eyes.

"I told you he was going to figure it out," Gus muttered.

Of course, Gus knew. The lifelong best friend to vouch for Shawn's "psychic" visions.

Shawn's head snapped towards his friend. "I'm using it to help Gus!" he said, his voice breaking off into a cough so violent his body shook.

Gus' gaze flicked from Shawn to Oliver's bow. "Don't bring me into this."

"Listen, you two, we don't have time for this," Oliver said. "And Shawn... I get it, alright? We all keep secrets. You're right; I have no right to judge you when I'm living a double life myself."

 _Except one of us is doing it for a completely idiotic reason..._

"So..." Shawn half raised his hand, as if asking to continue. "Does that mean... are we still working with you?"

Oliver sighed. As much as he hated to admit it at this moment, he needed them. He couldn't let his feelings cloud the fact that there was a murderer on the loose. They'd kept his secret, and they'd helped him get answers, more answers than he'd been able to find on his own. He wasn't about to let his pettiness get more people killed.

"Yes... you are," Oliver said, flexing his hand around his bow. "On two conditions. No more visions. You find something, you tell me. Second, the rest of the team deserves to know. Understand?"

"Yeah," Shawn muttered and coughed. "Sure."

o

His nose was all snotty, and his head hurt and his shoulders were stiff and he felt like crap. He felt like his insides had all turned to glop and the world was wrapped in cotton and he hadn't even done anything all day.

Oliver was out investigating something that he wouldn't tell either of them about, Felicity was at work, Diggle was taking care of his baby, Sara, and Roy was who-knew-where.

"Guuuuuus," Shawn whined, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shivering body. "I'm _bored_."

"Go call Lassie," was all Gus had to offer. His eyes remained fixed on the laptop screen. "I've got work to catch up on."

Shawn gave a long, loud groan, but all it did was make his throat hurt. He heaved himself up and stumbled into the next room. Diggle was standing over one of the table-computers... whatever you called them.

"Hey," Shawn said, stifling a yawn. "Thought..." He yawned. "You were..."

"I thought I'd come down here to see how things were going."

"Great, just _great_ ," Shawn muttered under his breath. "Except Oliver thinks I'm a complete... imbecile." He ended it with a word Lassie had once used to describe him.

"Not completely," Diggle said, glancing up at him with the slightest hint of a smirk on his haggard face. "He's just a little mad he didn't figure it out sooner. He'll come around."

Shawn just gave another mumbling groan, sinking down into Felicity's spinny chair. Just then his phone buzzed.

His hand flopped against his pocket. He decided it was too much work to try and pull it out, and so simply curled up in the chair, which wasn't exactly an easy feat.

Why couldn't they find this dumb person who was killing all the Hayden's disease people so he could just get some dumb cold medicine without having to endanger his life even further?

Just then a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Uh, Shawn. You might want to see this."

Shawn opened bleary eyes to see a phone shoved under his nose. It took a minute for the letters to focus, and he nearly went cross-eyed in the process.

 _Hey,_

 _You said that I should stop shutting myself out. So... this is me. Not shutting myself out. You deserve to know what happened. In person._

 _Meet me at River of Life Church by 7. Just you and Shawn please. No one else._

 _Ava._

o

River of Life Church wasn't like any church he'd seen before. It had no vaulted ceilings, no stained glass windows, no balconies. The whole building was only a bit bigger than a large convenience store.

Still, there was a certain coziness to it. Neat rows of chairs rested on the carpeted floor leading up to a small raised stage. The walls were painted a warm cream color, faint lettering spelling out bible verses and other encouraging phrases.

And, there, sitting in one of the front rows, was Ava.

Shawn took a step forward. Ava turned to face them, then bit her lip, her gaze flicking down.

Then Ava's face softened, her eyes moving back to them. "Hey... I'm... I'm glad you came." Her hand thumped against the seat next to her. "Here, sit down."

"So... what did you call us here for?" Gus asked, sitting down. Shawn gave a small sigh and sank down next to him, pinching his dripping, throbbing nose.

"Because," Ava said, "I guess you deserve to know. You deserve to know how much I royally screwed up my life. I was going to tell you earlier, but then came the whole... situation. I kept telling myself once it was over I'd tell you, but then when you got attacked, I don't know, I panicked. I thought the only way to keep you safe would be to get you out of here. Guess I underestimated how stubborn you two are." She let out a breath, her hand clenching into a fist. "Might as well start at the beginning. I came to Starling because I was sick of everything being handed to me, sick of being told what I could or couldn't do, sick of my parents, sick of the quiet, picket fence suburbs. I just wanted to get out of there.

"I packed my stuff, found a decent apartment here. The only problem was, the whole place was full of drug addicts. I panicked a bit, but it was the only place I could afford at the time.

"But... then I couldn't find a job. I was losing money, I was stressed and so... I… tried heroin. And," she said, gritting her teeth, "proceeded to lose the rest of my money."

"But... why didn't you just—" Gus started to ask.

"Yes, ask my parents for help, let them know how much I had screwed up, let them know that I couldn't handle being on my own in the big city," Ava said, her words dripping. Then she sighed. "I remember when the Arrow came. I was pretty terrified of him, what with how he was dropping bodies left and right—"

 _"I've killed more than enough times to be considered a serial killer."_

Working with a serial killer. He'd never really thought of it that way.

"—but there was something about him that kind of... inspired me. Here was someone who… looked out for us poor, unfortunate souls when no one else did." She let out a soft snort. "Then the Undertaking happened, and I decided I just couldn't live like this anymore. So many people died… but I survived. I'd been given a chance. So, I left the Glades, and I got help. I was able to stop the drugs, even finally got a job... then I looked back.

"I met Mark. We were stupid, we were kids. We were both struggling along, trying to put our crumbling lives back together. He was funny, he was nice. I felt like he really understood me. Then..." She stopped.

"Then I got pregnant. Mark... he... he didn't even know... oh, God." Ava slumped forward, buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God," said again, her voice muffled.

"Hey," Gus said, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "Hey."

Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets, averting his gaze. _Ava… I can tell why you didn't want Mark telling everyone._

"So... are you okay now?" Shawn asked, leaning in towards her.

Ava pulled back, raising a hand to scrub at her eyes. "Yes, I'm in a better place now. I just wish I could go back on time and slap some sense into my younger self. But you know what's weird? I go out for one drink, the first drink I've had in two years, and Mark shows up. It was almost like God sent him as a reminder. He kept blabbing on and on about how he couldn't let Veronica know how he's working on a cure for Hayden's disease."

Shawn froze, the wheels in his head spinning so fast one flew off.

"Was… was he working with someone on this?" Shawn asked. His voice came out quiet, deadly calm.

"Anyway, sorry again about kicking you—Oh. Delilah, I think." She frowned at him. "What, is something wrong?"

"No."

Ava pulled her fingers through her coarse hair. "Like I said, I panicked, and I just felt so bad about getting you into this whole mess."

The Whistler. Delilah. Report findings to Delilah.

" _As for the blood draw... normally, we'd call in the nurse, but since this was a last-minute thing, I'll have to do it myself."_

"But, since you're so stubborn about staying on…"

 _"I don't suppose I'd be making any progress if it wasn't for Doctor Delilah Sarin. That woman, I don't know how she gets that work done so fast."_

"You can come back you know," Ava said. She lightly shoved Shawn's shoulder and said, "Hey. Mister Spacey. I think Boots misses you."

"Dude..." Shawn muttered. And without another word he got up and sprinted out the door.

o

It didn't take long before Shawn was forced back to a walk. The sun was down, but the street lamps kept things almost as bright as day. People streamed past him, but a quick glance around showed no Gus. _Probably decided to stay back with Ava for a bit._

He whipped out his phone to shoot Gus a quick text about meeting up at the Arrow Cave ASAP, but the screen was black. Dead.

Shawn gave a muttered curse and shoved it back in his pocket. Could just have Felicity send one she got working on finding Delilah.

He broke into a speed walk, stepping down into an alleyway. A car horn blared through his ears, then another. He whipped around to see a man in green streaking down the street, vaulting over cars, in hot pursuit.

 _And he doesn't even have diplomatic immunity,_ Shawn thought, taking off after Oliver, dodging around the honking cars. _Sweet._

It took another minute or two before Shawn caught up. And it definitely wasn't because he was at least ten times slower than Oliver.

"Hey," Shawn gasped, rounding the corner and stepping into the dimly lit space. "Hey, Ar—"

The words died away in his throat, his mind switching from forming words to trying to process what I was seeing.

"I know you're in involved in all this," Oliver growled. He slammed the man back against the dumpster, one arm pushing against his windpipe. "So, you better start giving me some answers. Now."

"What—what a-are you talking about?" the man wheezed. The man was Mark.

"Who is the Whistler?" Oliver said. When Mark didn't answer, Oliver reached up and grabbed an arrow, stabbing it into his shoulder. Mark dropped to the ground, letting out short gasps of air, one hand curving around the wound. "Tell me."

Everything seemed to screech to a halt for a second. Then—

"Dude!" Shawn yelled. "Stop!"

The Arrow whipped around, drew an arrow, and placed it on the bow, all in one fluid motion.

Mark scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the shadows, leaving a small trail of red drips behind him.

"What were you doing?" Shawn said, as Oliver lowered his bow, letting his hand slide forward.

"Interrogation. Don't tell me you've never seen it before." He turned and began walking the way Mark had left, letting out a soft growl.

"Well, yeah, but... this isn't... dude, this is torture!"

Oliver paused for a second, letting out a short bark of laughter. "Must have left my pot of tea back at home. It works so well in getting information from people like him."

"Yeah, that's totally what I said," Shawn said, his throat flaring with pain.

"Says the man who's spent five years playing at being a psychic. By all means, go do that in your city, in your sunny Santa Barbara." Oliver stopped, turned to face Shawn. "This is my city. My rules."

"C'mon-"

"People are dying. We need answers, and we need them now."

"Fine. Delilah. Delilah Sarin is the one who did it. Is that enough answer for you?"

Oliver looked at him for a second, then shook his head and kept walking. "We can't know that for sure."

Shawn sprinted after him, hot anger boiling up in his center. "Why is it that you don't take anything I say seriously? From the second I met you, you've been disregarding everything I say."

"Maybe it's because you don't take anything seriously," Oliver said.

"Well, maybe it's because I didn't want to end up like you."

o

 _Great job, Shawn. Great job screwing it all up again. Just as we were finally getting somewhere._

Shawn stumbled over nothing. His palm slapped into a building, and then he was bending over, heaving out everything in his stomach and then some.

"Go home, you're drunk!" someone shouted, a shout that was followed by several voices lifted in high-pitched laughter.

 _Jeez. I think this city's getting to me,_ Shawn though, placing one hand on his stomach and cautiously straightening. The ground tipped and rolled underneath his feet. _If he'd just listen to... d...da..._

They'd ended the conversation with glares, then Oliver had turned and stalked away into the darkness, leaving Shawn alone in the alleyway.

Shawn took off at a stumbling walk, fingers scraping against the brick wall. Sleep. He needed sleep. No. No he needed to find Delilah. _Where would she be..._ Shawn stopped, slapped his forehead. _Wait... Cin...she said they were meeting at the back of the hospital, didn't she?_

"Hey," Shawn rasped, waving his hand at the first friendly face he saw. "'Scuse me, do you know the directions to Starling General?"

The woman gave him a quick once over, taking in his bruised face, snotty nose and mussed hair. "Yes, I think so." She rattled them off, then said, "Are you really going to walk? At this hour?"

"I'll be fine," Shawn said, waving her off.

 _Probably..._

It was a chance, a one in 269 chance that it'd work, that she'd be there, but he had to try. He had to do this on his own. He had to do it the Santa Barbara Shawn way.

o

He smelled her before he saw her. Even with his nose all stuffed up, the smell of jasmine hit him full in the face. The same jasmine Gus had smelled around where the dog was murdered. Where Sam was kidnapped.

Lights from the back of the hospital reflected off her jet-black hair, spilling over her long white coat. Her shoe tapped against the gray concrete. Her back was to him, but somehow, he got the feeling she knew exactly who was behind her.

 _I should get back to the others now._ He probably shouldn't have come here in the first place. Probably should have let Gus know where he was going. Or anyone.

Maybe he should get out of here before she saw him…

Delilah turned, raising an eyebrow at him. "Funny seeing you here again, Mr. Spencer."

So much for that plan.

"It was you," Shawn said, his hand curling around his dead phone. "You all along."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Delilah said.

Shawn cleared his throat, trying to push away the fuzziness slowly clouding his mind. This… this was the part where he explained everything… right? "You wanted to find a cure for this disease, and you wanted to find it before anyone else did. You especially wanted to find it out before Veronica did."

"You started out by testing it on animals. Some of which you found on the streets, some of which you stole from people, like your dear friend Abner. You kept them in an old burned out office building, and—"

"It was a nice place. Such an interesting history behind it, though it included such a waste of life. Shame we had to leave."

Shawn blinked. "Wait... are you confessing?"

"Not yet." Delilah lifted a hand, studying her nails through half-lidded eyes. "Please, continue."

"You... you left clues for Mark on the computer in the hospital, and he left them for you. He became friends with Veronica so no one would question why he was there.

"But then you found a bomb. You couldn't call the authorities, you didn't want to try and disarm it yourself, so you left. The animals escaped their cages and died, _one_ by _one_." Shawn punctuated the words with a stab of his pointer finger. "But then you realized you'd made a mistake. Scout. What if he went back home to Abner? What if Abner had him tested? So, you sent your man in black, and you killed that dog."

"Whiny little thing," Delilah said. "Can't say I miss him."

"Then, you decided to take it up a notch. Why not start testing out your cure on humans? First, you kidnapped Sam, making sure to give Mark a rock-solid alibi, and you messed with the two patient's paperwork, and had them kidnapped, too."

"I'm impressed," Delilah said, her tone flat. "You see, Shawn, when I was in college, when everyone was off partying, oh, I was the one sitting in my dorm or the library, surrounded by medical books and piles of homework. I was preparing myself to make the world a better place, to make my life matter. Don't you understand? I'm taking these lives, the lives of men who are going to die anyway, the life of a drug addict, and I'm making them matter."

"I'm sure they're going to thank you heartily from the other side." He stuck his hands in his pockets, blew out a breath. Right about now, in Santa Barbara, Lassie and Jules would be rounding the corner, guns raised, "Get down" bursting off their lips.

"So... it was you who figured out I had Hayden's disease," he said, trying to take a glance around without taking his gaze off Delilah.

"A simple enough blood test. And yes, in case you were wondering, it was me that hacked your phone," she gave him the smallest of smirks. "You did give me your number, after all. Though of course, I wasn't very good at it. Nearly set it off when I first hacked in. But then we were able to use it to our advantage…"

"You know… you're really clever. Good job, Delilah. Ten outta ten." He took a step backwards. Now if he could just convince _someone_... anyone...

Delilah's gaze snapped up, her mouth pulling into a wide smile. "Mr Spencer, do you know why I've been talking so long? It's simple: I've been stalling."

Something slammed into his ribs, and his legs gave out. He opened his eyes just long enough to see a boot coming towards his face.

When he opened his eyes again, something wet was streaming down his face. Something that wasn't tears. Everything was black, completely black. Then an arm wrapped around his neck.

 _Blood choke… oh… crap…_

"You forgot about one more member of the team, Mr Spencer. But don't worry. I'm sure he'll be very eager to meet you when you wake up."

That was when everything around him melted into nothingness.


	15. Chapter 14

_1978_

 _"...If you want to make something of your existence, I advise that you start shaping up. I am counting on you to make these years count._

 _Don't screw it up, son."_

He didn't even sign it. A growl rises in my throat as I crumple the paper. I can feel the small note give way beneath my fingers and part of me wishes I could do the same to my father. Fold him up and put him in a place where he wouldn't be able to hurt me again.

The small paper makes a satisfying _clunk_ as it hits the empty wastebasket. Sure, my other papers may be scattered across the desk, on chairs and stacked in teetering piles on my bed, but my father's letters belong in only one place—the trash.

I stare at the open textbook in front of me before my gaze inevitably drags back to the apartment window and the winding sidewalk beyond. Sun streams onto my desk and faint disco music wanders into my room. I catch the tune of _YMCA_ and within a minute the stupid earworm has worked its way into my brain. I hum along in spite of myself.

I can feel the letter staring at me from the wastebasket, and I hate it. I tell myself I don't care, but I do. I tell myself I'm not interested in what he says, but I am. It's the only thing I really want in this life. Just once, just _once_ the words "Well done."

The door swings open and Sampson walks in, portable radio swinging from his hand, _YMCA_ playing at full blast.

"Ey, Abe, my dude!" Sampson says, lifting his free hand in greeting.

He smells like smoke. His brown hair is long and tangled like one of those hippie freaks and he's grinning like an idiot.

How did this guy even get into the university? And more importantly, how did he end up as my roommate?

Right. Some lame attempt to rebel against my father.

"That's not my name," I mutter under my breath. I hear a tiny snap and look down. I've pressed the pencil so hard onto the page the end has broken off.

I let out a curse, throwing down my pencil. I can't work here, not anymore.

Maybe it's time to check up on the experiment I've been conducting...

"Where're you goin'?" Sampson asks as I brush past him. His words are slightly slurred, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Why do you care?" I snap.

"Jeez, chill man," he says holding up his hands. "Just asking."

I just roll my eyes and stalk out the door. It doesn't take me long to reach the lab. No, not the clean, pristine lab that the rest of the students of the university use.

My lab. My secret lab.

Since my freshman year, I have loved wandering the campus. Not only to admire it's wild, rambling gardens and sturdy trees, but to discover its secrets. This university has been around for well over a hundred years, so it's got quite the history.

I didn't discover the lab until a little into my sophomore year. It's located on one of basement levels that no one ever goes down into. Perfect for my experiments.

I step into the tiny room and let out a sigh. Solid grey walls stare back at me, along with stainless steel tables, the ones that took around three months to clean off. The squeaks and squeals of the lab rats are like music to my ears, along with the faint bubbling of chemicals.

I've been playing around with viruses and bacteria lately. Nothing too serious, just some studies on how various illnesses and infections work. Seeing how the rats react to them as well as the various antidotes. I wonder what it would be like to create a disease.

No, no. I begin chewing my lip. I can't create a disease, what good would that do?

But an antidote, an antidote to some mysterious disease...

I'd be a hero. No, I wouldn't just be a hero. I'd change the world as we know it.

A smile pulls my lips upwards and I lean back on the table. Visions of fame and glory dance across my eyes. I shake my head. Let's just get through the U first.

"Woah... uh, dude... what... what is this?"

My jaw clenches. I don't even need to turn around, because I'd know that voice anywhere.

"Sampson, what are you doing here?" I say through gritted teeth.

I turn my head to see Sampson give me a lopsided smile. "Hey, man, you never answered where you were going, so I decided to follow you. I dunno if you should be down here though."

Oh, the irony.

I rush forward and grab him by the collar, shoving him up against the wall. Heat burns across my face.

"Shut up," I snarl. "Just, for once in your stupid life, _shut up._ "

A look of dazed confusion flickers across his face, then he nods.

"Don't tell anyone about this place. Anyone. Or I swear, I will hunt you down and turn you into one of my lab rats." I bare my teeth in a grin. "No one's going to notice if some druggie goes missing. No one's going to care. I'll be able to do experiments on you, and no one will be able to hear you scream."

His eyes widen, and he nods again, faster. I let go of his collar and he slumps to the ground, before scrambling to his feet and running out.

I feel my grin fade, feel the heat fade from my cheeks. I look down and see my hands are shaking.

Did... did I just... what was that?

What _was_ that?

There's something about that action, that complete power over another human being. My insides are shaking, but…

At the same time, I feel something stirring inside me, hungry for more.

Interesting.

Very, very interesting.

o

"I think he's starting to wake up."

"Hm?" There was the rustle of papers. "Oh, yes, thank you Delilah."

The voices sounded like they were coming from underwater. Under... water. He needed to breathe. He wanted to raise his hands, to claw the water away, but he couldn't move.

"Heart rate increasing. I think it's safe to say he's starting to remember?"

Remember... remember wha—oh.

Crap.

"Mr. Spencer. Do please calm down. We aren't going to hurt you."

Oh… yeah. Like hell they were. Or weren't? How did that saying even go again?

"At least, not at the moment."

Wait. Wait a second. He recognized that voice. That voice belonged to Abner. The old man who'd had his own dog killed.

o

I've told you, he disappeared into a dead zone! No security cameras, nothing. You want me to say it? Fine, I'll say it: I can't find anything!"

Oliver reached forward to place a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling under his grip, could hear the way her voice was close to breaking. "Felicity, just calm down."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Felicity said, pulling off her glasses to scrub at her face. "It's just—" Her voice cracked, then quieted to a whisper. "—after what happened with Sara..."

Oliver let go, trying to ignore the sudden twist in his gut. "It's going to be okay," he said, his voice steady on the outside, shaking on the inside. _It's not my fault. I'm not going to go there, I'm not..._

Just then came the thump of the door, the clatter of shoes on the staircase and a second later Roy and Gus stepped into Oliver's line of vision.

"Did you find anything?"

"Blood," Roy said, his voice soft.

"It smelled like jasmine too," Gus said. His jaw was clenched, his words rigid. "Exactly like when we found Scout and Samantha."

"So, the same person," Oliver said. "Delilah."

When he looked up, Gus was inches away from his face.

"You knew who did it? Why didn't you _tell us?_ " Gus yelled, jabbing his finger in Oliver's face. "Why didn't you call the police and have her _arrested_?"

"Because it's not that simple," Oliver hissed. "If she gets wind that we're onto her, she'll kill him. We need to look at this as hostage situation. That means being care—"

"My best friend is missing right now! He could be dead! How do you know he's not—"

"I don't know, okay?" Oliver yelled. He turned away and slammed his fist on the table. Something that might have been pain flashed through his fist, and he let out a growling sigh. "But you can't let your emotions cloud your judgement, especially right now. How much blood was there?"

"Just a few spots," Roy said. "I got a sample." He held out a blood-spotted cloth.

"Alright," Oliver said. "We'll run a blood test."

"There's nothing," Felicity said, her face drained of color. Her eyes were fixed on the screen. "She hasn't gone anywhere unusual in the past couple days, her phone stays at either her house or the hospital, and—"

"Just calm down, everyone," Oliver said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out. "We're going to find him." His voice lowered to a mutter. "Somehow."

o

Abner Foster.

Of all the people...

Shawn's eyes flickered open. Blackness. They must have blindfolded him or something, but it was weird because he couldn't feel the cloth or anything against his face. It felt like his brain was rattling in his skull and his neck still throbbed dully. Shivers swept through his body, only to be replaced by burning heat a few moments later.

Shawn rubbed his hand lightly over one of his eyes. He could feel the weight of a handcuff on the other and so didn't bother moving it. They hadn't blindfolded him. Weird. Then why was is so dark?

"What's up with the mood lighting?" Shawn muttered. "Now, I get you're a crazy killer and all, but—" He paused for a hacking cough. "—This is just impractical."

"It's called vitreous hemorrhage," Delilah said. "Temporary blindness, sometimes occurring after a blow to the head." He could almost hear the smirk in her words. "Who needs a blindfold when you've got an expert street fighter like Jack on your hands?"

Blindness. Temporary blindness. What the crap, how did you even do that? Why was that even a thing? He couldn't see that meant he couldn't get out, he wouldn't be able to find his way out—

"Now, Mr. Spencer." That was Abner. "How do you feel?"

"Like a load of crap," Shawn said. He spat out the words to keep the shake out of his voice.

A light sigh. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Why do you care?" Shawn asked. A yawn, a stupid _yawn_ ached at the back of his throat, and he swallowed it down. "You're just going to kill me anyway."

"I'm afraid you've got it all wrong," Abner said, and Shawn could hear the laughter in his voice: kind, gentle laughter. Chills rushed over Shawn, leaving him shaking with cold. "I'm going to cure you."

Right. Right... Um. Nope. Nope. Nada. He was not going to become another one of Abner's lab rats.

"And then I'll have to kill you, obviously. But then again, none of my cures have been successful so far. I really thought I was getting somewhere with that 'Sam' girl, then the ungrateful little idiot decided to run out on me. Trying to cure her, and she runs."

Shawn flopped his arm over his eyes and groaned. His heart was slamming against his ribs. He wanted to gulp down air, more air, more, but he forced his breathing to be slow, rhythmic.

Someone was going to find him. Someone always did.

"Wow, what kind of doctor just kills all his patients?" he asked, topping it off with a slight "heh."

" _Excuse me?_ "

That was Delilah.

Then came the sound of a hand patting on fabric. "Now, Delilah. Mr. Spencer, I've told you before, we're developing a cure for these people. You asked what kind of doctor I am? I'm the one who isn't weak. The one who won't be held back by silly rules and restrictions. I'm the one who's willing to go beyond."

"Yeah, sure. Wonderful. I'm would be super inspired, except I'm kidnapped and facing imminent death from a serial killer."

This time he wasn't able to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Well," Abner said. "I suppose you're right. I suppose I am what you might consider... a serial killer. But... I suppose that sometimes you have to lose a little of what they call 'humanity' in order to beat the monsters."

o

Shawn moaned and grabbed another handful of kleenex from the table next to his "bed." The skin underneath his nose was rubbed raw, and his eyes were burning.

Who knew dying could be so uncomfortable?

And painful. Yep, pretty painful.

Shawn squinted, trying, _trying_ to make out something in this room. He wanted something to look at, something to analyze, to remember.

Nope. Nothing.

Nothing but a giant smear of colors, as if he were looking through the world's worst camera lens.

A bit better than the total darkness of… two days ago? Maybe three? It was hard to keep count.

Shawn gave a hoarse, rattling breath and brought his knees to his chest, protecting his rolling stomach. He wrapped his free arm around his legs, feeling the material of his sweatpants, rough and warm underneath the pads of his fingers.

At least they'd let him wear comfortable clothes. This way, he could almost trick himself that he was back in his apartment with the flu, nothing more.

He gave a _hrmph_ and flipped the pillow, trying to find a dry spot, just one spot where his sweat hadn't soaked through.

Just then he heard the click of a door opening. His entire body tensed, his nails dug into his leg. The rattling breaths increased.

"Ah, Mr. Spencer. How are you feeling?"

Abner's voice. He wished Delilah was her instead. At least she wasn't super creepy with this whole "grandfatherly" tone he had while talking about how he was about to murder Shawn.

"Oh 'm great, just great," Shawn muttered. He hated that question, how neither the person asking, nor the person receiving really cared about what was being said. "What do I get now?"

"We're going to try another batch of antibiotics... maybe mix in a little..."

The names flew over Shawn's head, sounding like they belong in the ingredients of a box of Apple Jacks.

 _"Okay, talk to me like I'm five."_

 _"Um... well... his blood pressure went BOOM... and his brain got an owie."_

He almost snorted at the memory.

There was the scratch of a pen on paper, the muttered words, "Now then… subject eight, trial four..."

The words dug into Shawn's brain. There was something about that line that's important... wait...

"You... you've killed seven other people before me?"

It comes out as no more than a whisper, hoarse and grating in his own ears. He knew about Sam, he knew about Scout but…

 _Seven?_

The scratching stopped. "I do wish you'd stop using that word. I've told you time and time again, I am curing these people, people who have no family, people who have been living in the streets. The rubbish that has been tossed to the side. I am giving their lives up to a great cause."

"If you wanted a cure, you wouldn't be using humans," Shawn spat out. "You just want to get there before anyone else does."

"You don't know how lucky you are, Mr. Spencer. You see, this disease is tricky. It has not evolved to the point where it is contagious through saliva, like the common cold. It only spreads through blood.

"Of course, I can always give someone a bit of infected blood, but there's just something about getting it naturally, it just—"

Shawn draped his hand over his sightless eyes. "Wow, someone's feeling talkative today. Can't you please just be like the other days and let a guy die in peace?"

A light laugh, then a cold hand closed around his arm. "Now, Mr. Spencer, don't worry. It'll all be over soon. Very soon."

o

"W-what? You kidnapped _him_!? _Shawn Spencer?_ "

"Yes, yes I did, Mark."

"We're screwed. We're totally screwed," Mark said. There was the was the slapping sound of shoes on tile. "This is too far. This is crazy."

"I've gone exactly as far as need be. Delilah made the right choice. He knew what was going on," Abner said, a certain edge to his voice.

"We need to stop while we're ahead. Seriously."

"I'm not going to stop until we find this cure."

"Oh, you said this job was going to be safe. 'One hundred percent risk-free.' Well, guess what? I got beat up by the _Arrow_ a few days ago. Where's my money, Abner? You keep promising money, but it's not coming."

"Chill, bro, we'll be fine," Jack said. "No one's gonna find us here."

"But you... Jack, you talked to Shawn and Gus! Like, a ton of times! Gus is totally going to—and you, Delilah, you keep putting on that perfume that keeps stinking up every place you go!"

"Would you rather have me smelling like dead bodies?"

"Stop being such a drama queen, Mark," Jack said.

A sigh. "I just—" Mark broke off. "Nevermind. Here—take the stuff."

There was the crinkle of a plastic bag, then the door opened, bringing a gust of air that left Shawn shivering, trying to curl up tighter into himself.

Then the door slammed, leaving only silence behind.

o

Mark's leg was bothering him today. Well, it bothered him practically every day, but today it was especially bad. One more thing to add to the crap load of complaints that made up his life.

Stupid Abner, stupid arrogant Abner thinking no one would be able to ever find him, then going and kidnapping Sh—

Mark stopped, bit his lip. He didn't need to think about that. _Just think about how much of an idiot Abner is._

Ugh. He'd be better off working with the Illuminati.

Now, why had he come here again? Mark glanced around the small, grimy room that had once been a kitchen. He ran his fingers over the small row of counters, feeling the oily remains of bad cooking. The checkered black and white tiles on the wall were chipped and the sink's handle had long since broken off. It was nothing like the spotless, pristine room just beyond, where Abner kept his medicines, where Delilah worked formulas and kept research on her computer.

His gaze dropped to his hand.

 _Try again, you idiot,_ was scrawled across his palm in untidy lettering.

Right. Try again. Ask Abner for the money, so he could quit before they got caught. Maybe he could convince Jack to quit with him. Then they could get Dad back on track, get him help. He could finally ask Veronica out and...

Unless Abner got caught. Unless Delilah ratted them out.

A loud, barking cough rattled through Mark's ears, and he stiffened.

"Yo, Mark," Shawn croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. He cracked a grin. "How's it going today?"

How did he know… Oh, right.

Psychic.

Mark didn't answer, just edged toward the door. He wasn't looking forward to asking for the money from Abner, but that the same time he wasn't about to start a conversation with Shawn either.

"Hey, can you do me a solid and get me something to read?"

Mark just stared. Of all the things to ask for...

"Y'know, maybe a comic, one of those superhero ones. Like, one not Superhero or Iron Man, but one of those really of those obscure ones… like…"

What was Abner giving this guy? None of the others had been so talkative.

"Oh, I'll have y'know, 'm on a highly 'vanced treatment plan," Shawn said, his words slurred. "On account of me not being a homeless person or any... thing. Ol' Doc Abner decided to go a bit faster with me."

Mark took a step back, his hand latching onto the edge of the grimy countertop. He hadn't said that out loud... had he?

"St-stop reading my mind," Mark said, his voice rising in pitch. He had never liked psychics, and this one was particularly... unnerving.

Shawn blinked open his eyes to squint at the ceiling, one hand swiping over his nose. "Y'know what I'd really like?"

Silence.

"Frozen yogurt. I mean, m' throat is _killing_ me right now, and you don't even offer me an ice cube. I mean... you are all evil scientists and everything but c'mon, s—" Shawn cut off, his face turning a shade of pale green. Mark turned away, just in time to hear Shawn just about puking his guts out on the other side of the room. He wanted to slap his hands over his ears and bolt out of there.

"You—you know what?" Shawn gasped. "Scratch that. I need—I need my shoes."

"Why… why do you need your shoes?" Mark asked, his tone lifting in spite of himself.

Well," Shawn said, then coughed. "It's kinda complicated. Y'know how when you get hit in the head and your vision goes blurry? That's kinda what happened to me, my psychic vision's gone all blurry and the I'm maybe kind of sure way to get it back is to get my shoes back. I left a bit of my psychic vibe in them, Mark."

 _Alright,_ Mark thought. _Someone's definitely gone over the edge._

"And, anyway, my friend, Gus, he always says you should sleep with your shoes on, I mean— _koff—_ he always sleeps with his shoes on and I always thought he was crazy— _koff_ —but it turns out—" He broke off, coughing and hacking.

"If… I give you your shoes, will you stop talking?" Mark said, taking another step towards the door.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want, my man. I'll be so quiet you'll—"

"Alright, alright, I got it," Mark said. He reached down and grabbed the shoes.

For a long second, he hesitated.

Then he set down the shoes next to Shawn and walked out without another word, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft _thud._

o

"Find anything?" Gus asked, raising a hand to rub at his burning eyes.

It was quiet in the Arrow Cave. Oliver and Roy were out searching for a trace of Delilah. Apparently, she had taken advantage of her vacation days. No one knew where she was. It had been four days since someone had last seen her, on the day Shawn was kidnapped.

It always felt so closed off in here. The bright fluorescent lights shone no matter what the hour, so even though it was only three in the afternoon, it felt more like three in the morning.

"I've scoured her work email and personal email, but I can't find anything. She's personally emailed this man called Abner Foster a couple times, but other than that I can't find anything. I'm keeping tabs on that 'Whistler' account too, but there haven't been any changes. I'm going to try and use the account to see if there are any whether computers linked to it and see if I can pull the IP address off one," Felicity said, all in one long breath.

"Abner Foster..." Gus muttered. Wasn't he the one they had met up with before? The one who had lost his dog?

"Can I take a look?" he asked.

"Sure," Felicity said. With a sweep of her mouse she flicked the emails onto another screen. "Just be careful not to send anything or... anything."

Gus just nodded, his eyes scanning over the email.

 _From: Abner Foster_

 _Subject: Test Results_

That looked promising.

He clicked open the document. There was only a few lines of bland text inside and he sighed, his mouse moving to close it and move onto the next.

 _Just thought I'd let you know that the test results were a complete and utter failure. Materials have slipped out of my grasp. Looks like we'll have to go back to the beginning._

Gus bit his lip, a memory stirring inside of him. Back to the beginning. That sounded like something Shawn would say. Back to the dog, back to the old hotel, back to when they found Sam.

Sam.

She couldn't have gotten far from where ever they had been keeping her. Otherwise she would have gotten help. Otherwise someone would have seen her.

"Oh... my gosh..."

"What is it?" Felicity's head bounced up.

"Can you check for... computer activity around that old hotel where Sam used to live?"

"Um... yeah... yeah, I think I can." Felicity's eyes narrowed in concentration, her fingers flying. Suddenly she sat bolt upright, her eyes growing huge. "Oh..." she said. "Oh wow..." Then she jerked back. "Oh—oh no..."

"What?"

"Well, there's good news and bad news. Good news, I think we found Shawn." She slid back to the computer, fingers flying over the keys. "Bad news, they may have noticed that I hacked into their computer."

* * *

 _A/N: Only one chapter left, guys!_


	16. Chapter 15

Shawn blinked open his crusty, burning eyes. He could feel his body shaking, and he couldn't stop it. Sleep. He needed more sleep, the once place where he could escape from this freezing hell.

People were shouting. He wished they'd stop. Why couldn't they just shut up and let him _sleep?_

"Of _course,_ we got hacked, Abner! The cursor started moving on its own; what, do you want me to show you the exact break in the circuitry where it happened? We've—"

"Well, we aren't moving out, if that's what you're asking." Abner's voice was cool.

"I wasn't asking. I'm _telling_ you. We have to get out of here."

"She's right. I mean, we've had our fun, but it's time to pack it up."

That was... that was Jack's voice, wasn't it?

"Let's just kill him now and get out of here," Jack said.

"He's right. We've gotten all we can and now—"

"No."

Blissful silence.

" _Abner_ —"

 _Oh, come on!_ Shawn thought. His free hand slapped against the bed, trying to reach his pillow so he could slap it over his head.

His fingers connected with something. Something small and plastic. The end of his shoelace. The one with the small metal piece attached. Nifty for picking locks.

 _That's… I was... I used it to..._

His thoughts were stumbling, the sentences falling flat on their nonexistent faces before he could finish them.

He tugged at the handcuff that held his wrist captive. In one fluid movement, the weight fell away.

 _I... I did it._

His eyes shot wide open, his heartbeat thrashing in his ears. For a split second his mind cleared, just before the full force of a headache slammed into it.

 _No, no, not now! God, please, not now…_

He was crying out to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, he was stumbling across the room. His breath was coming in gasps, he was choking on it. Hacking. It turned the world red.

 _This is crazy, this is so crazy..._

"I am not giving up now," Abner said. "I am not stopping until I get what I came here for."

"We're going to get caught!"

Abner made a sound like a sneer. "And here I thought you were willing to go farther than anyone else."

His fingers connected with a piece of cold metal. A doorknob? Probably. He was going away from the voices. Run.

Everything was tilting. He stayed hunched over in a stumbling run, occasionally slapping the ground with his hand in an effort to keep upright, the other hand groping in front of him. He still could barely see, and the last thing he wanted to do was crash into a wall.

It felt as it the very ground was sucking at his feet, pulling him under. Through another door, down a long hallway, turn. Colors flicked past his eyes, gradually growing dimmer until there was nothing but darkness left.

Shawn felt cold concrete slap against his face. His eyes were open wide, but all he could see was blackness. No indication of where he was, not even a clue of whether he was inside or outside.

He could hear nothing but the thrashing of his own heart in his ears.

A drop of water splashed onto his cheek, then slid down his face, but whether from rain or a leaky pipe... he didn't know.

Every fiber in his body was pulled tight, every nerve expecting to feel Abner's cold hand on his skin, ears waiting for the sound of his footstep.

Drowning. His body wouldn't stop trembling and each breath felt a more constricted. Shawn coughed and hacked until tears spilled out of his eyes, but it wouldn't go away. The ground rippled underneath his body.

He was back in the lake watching everything around him fill up with water, and he was powerless to stop it.

"P-please..."

All for nothing.

 _He's gonna kill me, if I don't die first._

But—

Then again, superheroes did have a knack for showing up just in time.

 _The Arrow's fist smashing into Mark's face, the Arrow's arm squeezing the breath out of the man's trachea._

 _"People are dying. We need answers. Now."_

 _Abner, needle falling from his bloodstained hands, a grin plastered on his face._

 _"I'm doing this to save them. To save this city."_

The ends justifying the means. That's what he told himself every time he pulled a psychic vision out of his pocket in order to forego standard police procedure, when he skipped the warrant in favor of snatching the key out from under the mat. The ends justified the means. He caught the person and didn't get caught.

He'd been such an idiot. He still felt like an idiot now.

"I just..." Shawn whispered between wheezing breaths, "I just... want to go... home."

Time seemed to skid for a while. It felt like hours, it felt like seconds. It felt like darkness and cold and pain.

It felt like something hard smashing into his stomach.

All the air rushed out of his body, leaving him retching. This was worse than the worst dry heave he'd ever had.

 _Please..._

He tried to curl up to protect himself, but the thing came again, this time hitting his face. Then blood in his mouth, coppery. Metallic.

"You," Abner snarled. His voice creaked. "You've ruined everything. I was supposed to find my cure in you, but you tried to run. Ungrateful imbecile."

Abner.

Something odd bubbled up inside of him, something almost like a laugh. He was getting the snot kicked out of him by a... what... a sixty-year-old man?

Real pathetic.

Then suddenly, he was jerked onto his feet, an arm around his neck, holding him upright.

"Let him go."

That voice. He knew that voice. There was only one guy who could make his voice sound like swallowing boiling gravel was his day job.

Just then Shawn felt something sharp prickling against his throat. It... hurt. It was almost unreal, how in all the agony flooding through his body right now, that one small detail stood out. It was something he could relate to, a small dose of discomfort he was familiar with.

One small detail in a hurricane of pain.

"I'm an expert on the human body, Arrow," Abner asked, his voice smooth as liquid butter. "I know exactly what arteries to cut. And once I do, he'll be dead in less than a minute."

 _Crap._ Shawn's breath sawed in and out between his clenched teeth. Cold flooded through his nerves.

 _Pack it away,_ he said silently. _Pack it away where you can't feel it, just like you always do._

Gasping breath in, wheezing breath out.

"So, I suggest you put the bow and arrows away for now."

For a second there was silence, then the small nose of metal objects bumping into one another.

"That's right."

 _Wow,_ Shawn thought, _he does care._

"Just let him go," Oliver said, his voice grating.

"I think we both know that's not going to happen."

"Then what do you want?"

"Two hours. Two hours and I will give him back."

 _Liar,_ Shawn thought. He could feel his legs shaking with the effort of holding his body up. The bright spots in his vision were slowly growing dimmer. But his mind was still racing, memories flicking across his mind's eye, anything, anything that could-

 _"Dad, we've done this a million times already!"_

 _"And you'll have to do it a million times more. It needs to be instinctive, and it needs to be fast."_

 _"But no one even uses knives anymore!"_

 _"Lots of people use knives. Now, repeat back to me."_

 _"Only use it as a last resort. Don't try and run, don't struggle. Reach up with both hands and pull down._

 _"Good. Now, let's try it again."_

"It's okay," Shawn said. He inched his hands upward, as if in surrender.

"That's right," Abner said. Shawn felt his grip relax slightly. "That's—"

 _I'm not going to die today._

Shawn grabbed Abner's hand. Without really stopping to think, Shawn jerked the man's hand down and away from him, then slammed his fist into Abner's wrist.

Abner yelled in pain and let go. Shawn dropped to the ground with a wheeze, adrenaline and exhaustion colliding in his core and making him want to puke. Then a hand grabbed his collar, yanking him backwards. For a second, he tried to struggle, then...

"Shawn," Oliver said. "It's me. I've got you."

"Oh..." Shawn panted. "Uh... thanks..."

A second later Shawn felt Oliver's hand slip away. He fell to his side, shivering, trying to push himself up and failing horribly. A part of him just wanted to lay down on the dirty concrete and just sleep.

There was the low hum of a bowstring drawn back, and something deep inside of Shawn eased. He was safe.

Safe.

Sure, they may have fought before, but all that mattered now... he was protected.

"It's over," Oliver growled.

There was a brief pause. The dog let out a low whine. Shawn could feel it pressing up against his leg.

"You've won," Abner said, his voice soft. "That's what you think, don't you?"

The rustle of cloth.

"What are you doing?" It was almost more of a snarl than a question.

"I've failed, Father. I've failed you. I've failed this city. That's what you used to say, did you?"

Boots. The sound of boots slapping against pavement. Someone was coming. No. Someones.

"I can't. I can't let anyone else have this cure." A strained breath, then another. "I cannot stand to just sit by and see another person take my life's work from me." A wheeze. "And that is why..."

Several noises. He didn't know what they were. Everything around him blurred out, like rain down a windowsill, and all he could think about was the pain, fire burning along his ribs and ice dripping down everything else.

Make it stop, make it _stop_ …. hurting…

"SCPD! Get down!" That was... Captain Lance, wasn't it?

"He's already down." A man's voice. Reuben's voice.

"Woah! I mean, woah! I mean... holy crap, did we just catch this guy? I mean, did _I_ actually catch this guy?"

Heidi's voice.

"Thanks for the tip," Captain Lance muttered, presumably to the Arrow. Shawn could just barely hear him over the faint ringing in his ears.

Shawn felt a hand close around his shoulder and groaned. "Hey, hang in there," Oliver said.

"Yeah, 'm trying, 'm trying," Shawn wheezed. "Uh... thanks for savin'... me... I mean... I was worried you wouldn' c'm back after..."

"Shawn."

"...I mean... I'm kinda sorry..."

" _Shawn_."

"For what I..."

"Shawn. Just save your breath."

"Don't feel... good."

A sigh. "I know, Shawn. I know."

Then, as if through a tunnel, Captain Lance's words came floating into Shawn's ears. "Yeah, looks like we've got a 10-56 here."

10-56... wait... that meant...

Suicide.

o

 _"I'm... alive?"_

Shawn let his eyes drift to the TV, the news anchor's oh-so-chirpy voice chattering on and on.

"With the help of STAR Labs, I am pleased to announce that a cure for the newly named 'Hayden's Disease,' a variant of the flu virus, has been found. Vaccinations are being worked on as we speak and with luck should be available to the public soon."

His whole body ached. Sure, the cough had gone away along with most of the pain, but there was a deeper ache inside of him, hitting right at his core. Cold.

He pulled the blanket closer, his hands fidgeting with an old half-solved Rubik's cube.

The male anchor turned to his partner. "And is it true that, in a rather controversial twist, part of the cure was found in former medical scientist Abner Foster's research?"

"Yes, that is true. For those of you who don't know, Abner Foster..."

Shawn dropped the cube in favor of the remote and switched the TV off.

"Well that was disappointing," he muttered. "Didn't even mention me once."

He could almost hear Gus' reply. "If you'd kept watching maybe they would!"

A meow. Boots jumped onto Shawn's lap, the cat's entire body vibrating with purrs.

A cure, found in the murder of seven people and countless innocent animals. Maybe if he hadn't been an idiot and just listened to germaphobic Gus for once they would have had more time.

 _"I wasn't going to let my best friend die,"_ Gus had said.

And Shawn couldn't blame him. He'd have done the same thing if their places were switched.

Maybe it was a way of honoring those people's memory. Taking these atrocities and using them to save his life. But… they hadn't asked for this. No one knew what those seven people wanted.

No one ever would.

"Hey, Shawn. How are you feeling?"

Shawn looked up and offered Ava a wry grin. "About 57.8 percent better."

"Your dad was asking about you again."

Shawn groaned. The absolute worst part of this whole misadventures was that they'd contacted his dad after he'd been found. He'd had to listen to the full lecture. Henry had shut up only after Shawn said that he'd used one of his dad's many tricks to save his life.

But after that, he'd spent a few days alone, deserted on this island of a city, isolated from his old life back in Santa Barbara.

He plead the fifth with Chief Vick and the others, leaving it at "I'll be coming back in a jiff." He didn't want to have to explain what he had gone through. There would be time to embellish and emblazon his hard-fought victory. But not right now.

Right now, he felt relief that Abner was dead. No... no he didn't. But, in a way, Abner deserved it. But why... why more death?

"Having another psychic vision?"

Again, he blinked, once more pulled from his circling thoughts. At any other time, he might have been annoyed but right now, he felt grateful.

"Of sorts," Shawn said, bringing his knees up to his chest to she could sit down on the couch next to him. The couch was soft and warm, inviting sleep. Inviting nightmares. Abner with a knife pressing against Shawn's neck, Abner cutting his own throat, and the Arrow...

"He could have stopped him..." Shawn mumbled.

"Shawn," Ava said, lifting a hand. "Not psychic, remember?"

Shawn gave a soft snort. "I was... talking about Abner. He... The Arrow... probably could have stopped him from killin' himself like an idiot. I know. This is coming from me, the guy who solves a murder every week, pretty much. But, I mean, this one didn't have to happen. And, coupled with the fact that it wasn't a murder and there was no mystery involved and—"

"Shawn. It's okay." She placed her hand over his. "I get it." Her other hand moved to tickle under Boots' chin and the purring increased.

"Now, I'm sure you've heard about last year's terrorist attack," Ava said.

"Yeah. The super angry solider dudes... or something. There wasn't a whole lot of info."

"We didn't get a whole lot of information either," Ava said. "From what I've been able to gather, some scientists somewhere, somehow created this drug that could supposedly cure all diseases and make people very strong. The only downside was the side effect of... basically insanity. I wonder if that's what flashed through the Arrow's mind. I mean, you only have a second to decide. And for that one second, your mind goes back to all those people who were killed because of a 'miracle' drug. And you hesitate. And then it's too late."

Shawn was silent for a long moment. Then, "You're really something, Ava."

Ava just snorted. "Oh, that? I'm pretty sure that was God talking."

o

"I still can't believe you talked me into this. It's too sunny here," Oliver growled, delicately picking his way through the crowds of people. Shawn grinned and chomped off another hunk of ice cream. Oliver glanced over. "Do you really have to do that?"

"My city, my rules."

"You're not going to stop rubbing that in my face, are you?" Oliver said. "Another reason why I shouldn't have come. I should have gone with Gus. At least he knows how to be somewhat serious."

"Nah," Shawn said, "he wouldn't dream of missing the chance to flirt with Felicity."

"He's not her type. She wouldn't fall for that kind of guy."

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "Ooooh, does someone have a crush on Felicity?"

Oliver stopped and crossed his arms, his gaze drifting upwards. "You really are the most childish person I've ever met."

 _Maybe it's because I didn't want to end up like you._

"I prefer the term… _one who finds the joy in life and doesn't have to be all dark and brooding all the time,_ " Shawn said, lifting his hand and waggling his fingers with a flourish. "But—" he glanced over at Oliver, who rolled his eyes "—Your city needs someone like that. Someone who really knows how to kick tail. Not saying _I_ don't know how to thrash the bad guys—"

"You do it in your own way," Oliver said, a rare grin quirking his mouth. "Sure, you may set the building on fire, get chased by a crazy old man, get officially kicked off the case. But in the end you solve the mystery."

"Exactly," Shawn said, throwing out an arm and nearly hitting a passerby in the face. Then he stopped. "Did you just… compliment me?"

"Don't get to used to it."

Shawn leaned over the railing of the dock. The sound of gentle waves splashing against the wood filled his ears, intermingling with the soft chatter of people. Behind them, steady as a loyal dog, sat the Psych office, beyond that, his dad's house, the police station…. Home.

Finally home.

"You know, for all our differences, there's one thing we've got in common," Shawn said. He took a deep breath of the salty air, then let it out. "We'd both do anything to help protect our cities. To make sure we don't 'fail this city.'"

Oliver rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over the railing, ignoring Shawn's offered fist bump. "You know that's right."

* * *

 _A/N: And that's all she wrote..._

 _Thank you for reading!_


End file.
